A Torch in the Tempest

Guilty Pleasures

2012-02-11T18:56:00.002-06:00

We all have them, right? I have the kind of personality that compels me to completely immerse myself into something I find that catches my imagination. I can become so focused on something that I hardly turn my mind to anything else. It can be that way with writing or reading, and it usually is, but lately I've rediscovered my love of cartoons.

Okay, okay, to be honest, I've always loved cartoons. I'm really just a big kid. But my daughter loves anime, a thing which I have always avoided and disliked since the early Pokemon years (gods, that show drove me nuts). BUT, I will now admit, I have found a FEW anime series that I really enjoy, so I have spent far too much free-time catching up with series on Netflix.

Much like what I choose to read or write, I am very specific in what I want in this form of entertainment, and I am only interested in Victorian Era style anime that has no ninjas or tiny-outfitted girls who have been 'blessed' shall we say in the chest department. There is murder and conspiracies and complicated plots, all of which are right up my alley. The few anime I enjoy are based on the manga series of their namesakes, so I have had to learn how to read manga. It... takes some getting used to, reading backwards.

How about you guys? What are your guilty pleasures?

So, a bit of news...

2012-02-06T10:52:00.008-06:00

I'm being published. Yes, yes, it took me ages to work up the nerve to announce it. I was offered back in September and since then it's been a hectic life of editing two books (two were signed) and getting all my ducks in a row, and I pretty much abandoned EVERYBODY because I am the suck. The holiday season didn't help, either.

Procrastination might have also been a contributing factor.

So anyway, book coming out. Huzzah! It's the third book I wrote, initially called "Meantime Elsewhere" but it is now called "Four in the Morning."

This is the e-book cover.

Below that is the printed cover.

The synopsis is on this page, and the first pages of the book are on this page.

I've posted my trailer on my youtube account.

So... I guess that's everything on me. What about you guys? Up to anything new this year? Tell me all about it. I'm going to be making my blog rounds again since I know I've been a serious slacker in that regard.

The Book That Scares You

2011-09-05T14:40:00.000-05:00

I hear that tossed around a lot - the idea that there is a book within yourself that you are too afraid to write. I thought it was my last manuscript, MEANTIME, ELSEWHERE until I read a book hauntingly beautiful and I wondered if I had it in me to write in a similar way. More literary, I suppose. Most everything I write is full of my kind of humor with dark themes, but is definitely more concept or commercial than it is literary.

So, I gave it a go and wrote MONSTERS SYNONYMOUS. Honestly, I think it's the best thing I've ever done. It was so hard to write it, but the challenge of it pushed me in ways I never imagined. It is also -quite ironically- the fastest I have ever written a book. Even though I'm aware literary books aren't as popular as commercial, I don't regret doing it. I feel like it opened up a whole new world for my writing by doing it. I look forward to writing my next one, and entertain the idea of rewriting older stuff. Yes, I'm sort of nutty like that.

Anyhoo, any of you ever tried this? Going so outside your familiar and comfortable territory - be it writing or entertainment or anything - and discovered this whole new world you'd been missing out on?

Inspiration Lightning

2011-08-20T22:37:00.000-05:00

Ever have it? You're sitting around mulling something mundane over when from east of left field comes this jolt of inspiration. I had that happen a couple of days ago and now all I can think about is my new WIP.

I am attempting something I've never done before because I want to push myself to be a better writer, the kind of writer I know I can be if I work hard enough. They say to challenge yourself and write something you're afraid you can't do. I've definitely done that. With each page I pause and stare at it, not sure if I'm on the right path.

It doesn't matter, I think. Just being on a path, no matter how far removed from the heavily trod one it is, may be enough. All roads lead to Rome. Some just take a more scenic route than others.

How about you? Feeling inspired? What inspires you to keep going?

Write On Con

2011-08-16T15:22:00.000-05:00

Why the skunk? Because I love skunks, of course. This is my dream pet. I want one so bad.

What a week, guys! Has everyone been over at
Write On Con, soaking up the info and harassing... I mean... interacting with the lovely agents and authors? If not, get your booties over there. That's where I'll be all week.

On the writing front, I found me the most awesome editor in the world and she's helping me get my MS in tip-top shape. Can't say enough about this, chickadees and monsieurs. Editors are the bomb.

For a bit of smiles, I suggest you watch The Funniest Dang Thing Ever

It's got Spock. You gotta love Spock.

Stereotypes

2011-08-13T11:14:00.000-05:00

They’re everywhere, aren’t they? Try as we might, our experiences tell us to expect things of people who act a certain way, dress in a particular style, or enjoy certain things. And this has nothing to do with race. A white person dressed in jean cutoffs and a salsa-stained t-shirt (or what society has now ‘cleverly’ deemed the “wife-beater”) leaves you with a different impression than the same person dressed in business attire.

There are so many misleading stereotypes in the world:

But how do we keep this out of our writing? More importantly (at least to me), how do I keep my readers (or potential agents) from assuming my character is going to be a stereotype just because of the way I have her dress?

I know many people make assumptions about me when they see me in person. They see my two-colored hair (either black and red or black and blue), my tattoo, lip piercing, black novelty t-shirt (either a band or a ‘dark’ movie), and leather renfaire shoes, and from that visual, assumptions are made about the sort of person I am.

There are things they would not assume about me:
1) I volunteer for the animal shelter
2) I give clothes, books, and toys to battered women’s shelters instead of Goodwill
3) I participate in toy drives every Christmas
4) I buy insane amounts of Girl Scout cookies to help friends’ kids
5) I spend all my free time writing and not doing something ‘unsavory’

To name a few. I doubt they would assume other things:

1. My favorite bands are Blue October, Seether, CCR, Pink Floyd, The BoDeans, and I love soundtrack albums from movies. Music with a lot of screaming annoys me.
2. My favorite movies are Galaxy Quest, Erik the Viking, Holy Grail, 13th Warrior, Knight’s Tale, Finding Nemo, Four Brothers, How to Train Your Dragon, Sweeney Todd, V for Vendetta, and The Lord of the Rings series.

These are movies I can watch on an endless loop for days. Yes, I’m weird that way.

Because I am overweight, they assume I eat too much. The truth is I eat once a day, sometimes a snack as well. My problem is that I don’t move, so yeah – they’re right to assume I’m physically lazy, but it’s also because my job was 8 hours at a desk and then write all night, but now it’s write all day and all night. I’m not lazy in my mind.

My character dresses in a goth way and is a little overweight. I wonder if readers would be put off by her just because of that, if they’d feel like they can’t relate to her because they can’t identify with her. Also, if agents would make the same assumption of readers and dismiss my MS based on that. My MC is not a stereotype. She has layers and motivations, dreams and hopes, disappointments and heartache.

And, before anyone assumes incorrectly, she is not a mini-me. In high school I was skinny as a rail with blonde hair, and was very much a grunge girl. Most days. I occasionally had a girly moment and wore a skirt.

Do any of you have this worry? That an agent will read your query and your pages and assume your character is not going to ‘speak to’ them, as some put it, because they have never been in a certain clique (or even actively disliked people in that clique) and therefore dismiss your character’s story?

100 Word Story

2011-08-11T23:27:00.000-05:00

As I normally do, I entered one of Janet Reid's 100 word contests, lost, and posted here on my blog for your amusement.

The five words to be included in the story:
echo
fever
jelly
roll
t-bone

Afternoon Delight

The sweat caked with the powdered sugar against her leathery tanned skin, like white jelly spread thin over golden toast.

On the floor beside the bed lay a half-eaten swiss cake roll, smashed into the carpet, and a t-bone cooled on the nightstand which had proved useless.

As the carnal fever almost sated, I gazed with heavy lids down at the paper bag which hid her face. A stick-figured character drawn in red gel pen smiled up at me.

Our agreement was an echo in my mind.

“Food sex? With you? Okay, but on one condition…”

What Makes Us Who We Are

2011-08-09T09:35:00.000-05:00

I have two teenage daughters. As I watch them go about their lives in their own little universes, it inevitably leads to flashbacks of my own teenage years. My high school career was at the very end of the 80s and very beginning of the 90s, so I have two of our most warped decades to thank for my personality. I also blame a lot of it on my dad.

When I get an idea for a story I want to tell, I write it down. But as I read back through it once it’s done, I can see the influences from my teenage years. It’s all there, glaringly obvious to me. If I ever become published, I think it might come as no surprise to my readers to discover who my major media influences were (and in many cases, still are).

The Far Side – I have six books of Gary Larson’s collections, and they are left out and read through daily when I have a few minutes of ‘me’ time. This current sentence was going to be TMI, but I removed it. You’re welcome.

Pictured: How I Plot My Character's Life, Part I.

Sci-Fi – I was going to list out specifics, but really it needs to be lumped into one. X-Files, Star Wars, Star Trek, the Terminator, Sliders, X-Men comics, etc.

Pictured: OMG Heaven.

Monty Python’s Flying Circus – They used to show re-runs late at night on MTV, as well as Britain’s The Young Ones. These were happy, happy times for me, my friend. The offbeat and unexpected plots have heavily influenced my own plotting.

Pictured: How I Plot My Character's Life, Part II. You might notice a running theme...

Dean Koontz – Yes, I mention him on occasion. I read my first Koontz book when I was 12. Lightning. It was about time travel, fighting Nazis, redemption, and being a writer. It’s been a huge influence on me, and most likely why my first three series I wrote dealt with time travel, and why I suck up all things time travel like a sponge. A lot of people dismiss Koontz as a horror writer and never try him, but he’s written some of the most amazing characters I’ve ever read.

Pictured: OMG Heaven cubed. Aka: The Incarnate of Awesome.

Darlene Conner – Played by Sara Gilbert on Roseanne. I was (and in many ways still am) a version of this character, so much so my dad called me ‘Darlene’ half the time. It reflects in my narrative voice when I write.

Pictured: Me and my nerdy boyfriend. Funny how I look more like Roseanne now. OMG. WE DO TURN INTO OUR MOTHERS.

So, there’s my list. What’s yours? What are the defining media influences on you and your writing?

9 Things That Make My Life Difficult

2011-08-04T23:43:00.000-05:00

1. Ignoring my deeper peeves in life that revolve around the English language and how it’s used and abused, one of the greatest peeves in my life is clothing sizes. More specifically, the delusional folks who determine them. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t America in a sort of ‘omg we’re so fat’ stage right now? So why, for the love of that is holy and dipped in chocolate, are clothing sizes so disproportionately accounting for those of us of above standard-American-lingerie -model size in girth?

I found one website that says, “Please review our size chart as our shirts run small. Material also shrinks once washed.” Okay, WTF? And the largest size they carry? XL. That means their idea of XL to me is like a junior miss small. It’s not like I want to wear sleeveless, midriff shirts and frighten and/or revolt unsuspecting innocent bystanders with my stretch mark contour map of the Ukraine. These are t-shirts, for crying out loud. Another peevish place is Hot Topic. My girls shop there. I can only stand and look around with a dirty look on my face. Their idea of an XL is like a toddler sized medium.

Sometimes I wonder if the madness is to do with the countries and child labor sweat shops half our clothes come from, but that’s a sensitive subject matter I’ll refrain from blogging about with any specificity.

*rant done*

2. Things that are so very bad for me and my priceless time: Websites. I can spend hours scrolling through A Softer World’s strip comics, especially when it takes ages to load the image. I am sure I will never finish Mcsweeney.net as there is too much infinitely amusing content. Don’t even get me started on Cracked.com. I spent every spare second for two months there and have grounded myself from it ever since I managed to pull my head up for air.

3. My uncomfortable desk chair that thinks my legs don’t need blood.

4. My cat. He is the boss of me, and I can’t even quit.

5. A few of my kids’ friends’ parents who make ME look responsible. Yeah, they’re that bad. Too many have dubbed me Mommy#2.

6. Unobliging lottery balls. Nuff said.

7. My body’s insistence that I need at least five hours of sleep a day. This seriously cuts into my website reading. I mean… my writing.

8. Texas heat. Seriously, why is under 100 degrees an impossibility? We’re in the middle of the worst drought in history (which made lakes dry up and pieces of the Challenger shuttle were found) and now this slice of heaven just hit the news, “The Texas power grid operator has scrambled this week to meet soaring electricity demand in the face of a brutal heatwave, and residents of the second most populous U.S. state are one power plant shutdown away from rolling blackouts.” No one wants to see me hot. Seriously, I’m an angry lady when I’m hot.

9. Internet ‘improvement updates’ that make all my functions stop working like they used to. I’ve had to basically write off Skype and Youtube, and gmail started to destroy my formatting when sending an email. Hence, I sent a particularly awful looking query out without realizing it. Copy/paste into the box is a disastrous thing to do these days, apparently. Funny how it’s always been just fine for YEARS. If anyone knows why this is, please tell me. I’m afraid to query now.

I'm a Bit Ashamed, But Not Above Sharing

2011-08-04T00:30:00.000-05:00

I've never read a lot of the classics. While pop culture has told me enough about these books to know the plot and characters, I've never read them. So tonight, when I logged into Amazon (I prefer brick and mortar normally, I SWEAR) to read when a novel I'm super anxious to read is available (This Dark Endeavor. Not til the 23rd. Sadface.) one of these 'classic' books was in the 'also bought' section, so I went ahead and got it.

Here was my first mistake. I'm not a shopper. I'm one of those impulse buyers that store owners love. Since I rarely shop, I tend to go overboard since my thinking turns into, 'well, I never get myself anything, and I've got the cash, so...'

I wound up, in the end, with thirteen tomes now being shipped to my house. Of these, I will say such classics as A Catcher in the Rye, The Great Gatsby, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, and American Gods are all now going to FINALLY be read by me.

There's several authors I follow and I have now bought Tawna Fenske's Making Waves and Sean Ferrell's Numb. In addition to those, I bought ones that it seems everyone else has read recently but me (as far as YA goes) which are Incarceron, The Hunger Games Trilogy, The Maze Runner, Whisper, and The Forrest of Hands and Teeth.

Because I'm random, I chose a couple more books I'd read about on blogs this week which are Beasts of No Nation, Hold Me Closer Necromancer, and Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. (I'm especially excited about the last one. Thanks Emily!)

There's a few of these well outside my comfort zone. I'm the sort of reader that sticks to what I love and rarely venture outside that. But that's sort of stupid, I decided. If it's well written, then I should give it a go.

What this longer blog post's point was (since I rarely have one) is to give an example of how blogging IS a valid and worthwhile form of advertizing. I'd otherwise have never heard of several of these if not for blogging.

As an aside, I've a file called, "Books I Need to Buy" and on that remains (and a couple aren't available yet) A Monster Calls, American Desert, Animal Farm, Beautiful Creatures, Boneshaker, Divergent, Geek Love, Going Bovine, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norell, Little Kingdoms, Never Let Me Go, Speak (I KNOW, RIGHT? WTF is wrong with me for not reading it yet?), The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, The Alienist, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, The Blind Assassin, The Brief Wondrous Live of Oscar Wao, The Corrections, The Hanged Man, The Help, The Invention of Murder, The Monsters of Templeton, The Near Witch, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Somnambulist, The Tiger's Wife, The White Tiger, The Wind-up Bird Chronicles, Thirteen Reasons Why, This is Where I Leave You, When You Reach Me, and Wintergirls. 90% of these come from an agent I respect's personal pics. His taste is like mine, so I'm going to run with it.

We're not even going to go into the books I already own that I've not read yet *coughEndersGameWaterforElephantsTheArtofRacingintheRainTheReplacementLittleBeeTheRoadTheBookThiefWatchmenGirlWiththeDragonTattoocough*

So, are there any books you're ashamed of not having read yet? Do you have any more suggestions for me to try?

Miscommunications

2011-08-03T11:46:00.000-05:00

We've all had them, right? I'll give you a prime example.

My daughter came into my office last night(or technically 3:30am) and said, "Why are you up so late?"

"I'm reading a blog and a few of these agents are hilarious. But now I'm worried no agents will want my book."

Her response? "Why wouldn't Asians want your book?"

"Agents, sweetie. Agents."

I doubt I'm the pillar of social etiquette anyway (which will shock none of you, I'm sure), but I've got a bad habit of trying to assume what someone said if I didn't understand them. I would rather take my chances of deducing what was most likely said rather than ask a person to repeat themselves.

This, as anyone could predict, leads to an occasional misunderstanding. I tend to assume towards the positive end of the scale so it's not like I get angry. I just know there've been many conversations in my life when I didn't have a clue what the other person was talking about because I'd missed the most pivotal word and was too embarrassed to stop them and say, 'Wait, what word did you say there?'

Am I alone in this? It is just another quirky thing about me I should have kept to myself? I have little doubt.

What Is Your Greatest Writing Obstacle?

2011-08-02T10:01:00.000-05:00

Mine is naming things. I can hash out words all day, but if I have to give it a name, I'm at a loss. I wind up googling for ideas, searching wikipedia for appropriate references, researching all manner of things until something finally 'feels' right. I've finished my WIP and want to work on the query letter, but it HAS NO NAME. I had a name for it in the beginning, but it doesn't fit anymore. Plus it turned out to be the title of a cookbook already published.

Granted, this is nothing compared to the anxiety of naming my girls.

I know what we name them isn't important in the end. If a publisher picks it up, they usually change the title to something they think will work. But I can't just call it 'Beans and Rice' and be done. I can't send it out into the world like a nameless orphan begging for scraps on the corner. I over-think it, I know I do, but it's the one thing I'm anal about. The name HAS to fit.

What about you? What part is the hardest for you?

Four Months Isn't Too Long, Is It?

2011-08-01T08:02:00.000-05:00

So, I took a bit of a hiatus from pretty much everything. No tweeting, no Facebook, no blogging, and barely e-mailing. I resigned from my horrible job in May, and I couldn't be happier. I've spent pretty much every waking moment writing or editing, though most of that is work that will probably never be published. I was just writing for fun. I started to work on my WIP which I put off in March, and lo and behold, I think I will have it edited and ready to go in a week or so, barring any unforseen circumstances.

I tried to buy a house, but since the mortgage crash it has become ridiculously difficult, at least in my area. I'll soldier on. I don't mind my rental so much. I've been here five years, though. That's a lot of money I could have put towards a mortgage. Hindsight and all that, right?

I'm a huge Harry Potter fan. Well, not Harry himself, but the world. Now that the last movie has played, I find I have nothing to wait for anymore. I used to wait for Star Wars and Star Trek movies, then Lord of the Rings movies, then Harry Potter movies and books, and now there's nothing out there that has grabbed my attention. Any suggestions?

Not much more to report. I was just popping in to say I'm still alive and still writing. How goes it with y'all? I hope to hear about loads of success, guys. It'd perk me right up.

Inspiration is a Fickle Mistress

2011-03-24T20:23:00.000-05:00

I have been wondering lately if I'm a writer at all. Sure, I can put words together and tell a story, but so can anyone if they have the time and imagination. There's often debate about what makes a writer an author, or when we can call ourselves one of either. I think it's up to us. You know you. No one knows you better than you do (not even that stuffed animal you still have on the shelf from childhood).

I'm not a writer. I don't have the drive and ambition to turn what I do into a brand. There's a whole lot in this world to be inspired by. My voice is just one small vibration in a crowd.

I'm a storyteller. I write what entertains me. This week I've partnered with someone I've been writing with for about six years. Since Sunday, we've written about 35,000 words. Not a single bit of it will ever be seen outside my inbox, and I don't care. It's simply fun to write. I look at my last two projects, and the words of a reader keep ringing in my ears. "You're shooting yourself in the foot." Why? Because my stories are journeys into the bizarre. I laugh as I write, and a lot of it I make up as I go.

And I'm okay with that. I'll keep plodding on, and I'll submit each thing I finish in the hope that some agent out there will 'get' me. But I can't be anything other than I am. Maybe someday I will evolve. In the meantime, I'll sit here and laugh along with the various voices in my head.

I'm not a writer. I'm a storyteller.

Some Random Observations

2011-03-14T20:37:00.000-05:00

This week I've managed to plow through 12K of new words on my WIP. It's like some kind of miracle. My mojo has returned.

Various things have caught my attention lately, and I am going to mention them today.

My youngest daughter asked me if my car was a girl or a boy. I said she is, of course, a girl. She then informed me my car is a lesbian because it hates when I let guys drive it.

People who own skunks swear they are smarter than cats and make better pets. So why do I pass half a dozen skunk carcasses in the forty mile trip to my parents' house, but not a single dead cat?

Why are they called refried beans and not reboiled beans?

Why is it the Trojan Horse when it was the Greeks who built it?

These are the sorts of questions that pop into my head as I write.

What I've been reading about lately is the horror in Japan. It breaks my heart to see so much destruction and loss, but at the same time... I'm me. I see images and most of them sadden me, but at the same time a couple catch my eye and ever so slightly amuse me.

No offense is meant in the following images, but I just had to share these two pictures that prove something unexpected: Japan has excellent building codes that keep the buildings from toppling and no doubt saved thousands of lives, but Japan also has magic earthquake paint that tells it where to crack.

So Much Good News

2011-03-10T07:23:00.000-06:00

I've been taking a kind of hiatus from blogging while I deal with other things that take me away from my computer, but I've been slowing stepping back into my blogging ways. Everywhere I look these days there is good news. Tahereh Mafi has a three book deal, Emily White is being published by an indie, Roland Yeomans is in the midst of a blog tour for his book, and it seems like things are turning rosie for my friends. I'm so happy for all of them.

As for my writing, I'm finally back on the horse and managed to finish two chapters this week. You can see my status bars on the side. For my two WIPs, I set the bar low so it doesn't intimidate me so much, but I know the one is going to be far longer than 50K. It's a sort of psychology thing.

Granted, my second was only 45K when it was done, but that was because I tried so hard to keep it concise, it wound up being too concise. I had several agents ask for partials and fulls and I guess I thought they'd tell me what to expand on if needed. But I had no takers in the end, and there's no reason I can't revisit it later.

My current WIP is unlike anything I've ever tried to do, and I hit a point where it intimidated me. But the scenes have been coming faster than I can write them down, so I think I'm over my long slump.

I hope everyone is doing well.

Questions We Ask Ourselves

2011-03-02T22:47:00.000-06:00

We all spend a bit of time on this sort of thing, don't we? We ask why we persist in doing something so difficult with little or no reward. We ask ourselves what we want out of life, our entertainment, our employment, our friends and families. Do we really know what we want? Maybe some of you do. Or maybe, like me, some of you think you know the whats and whys, but have trouble with the hows and whens. Some of you more unfortunate ones that are exactly like me change your mind constantly and are easily distracted by anything remotely distract-worthy.

I would like to officially blame Simon C. Larter for Tweeting about Cracked.com on January 15th. I cannot drag myself away from the place. When I was a kid, I collected Cracked magazine. I'd spent the last couple of decades certain the mag went tits up, and was thrilled to find it reinvented online. I've read through pretty much every article they've posted since 2006 in the last several weeks, and participate in contests and volunteer to write articles now. They've yet to accept my work. Oh, those familiar feelings...

Which leads us to rejection. Not just of our work, but of us as individuals. I don't handle it well. I don't mind when people don't 'get' my writing. I understand it's a bit left of left field. But since being strongarmed into joining Facebook, I've been able to rekindle those feelings of high school rejection. Mostly because of those I knew 20 years ago in high school. All in all, I've joined Twitter (not posted since January), Facebook (posted once, commented twice), and have accounts at other places on the spiderwebs, and I am sure of only one thing in my life: I totally suck at this social media thing.

I think it's the lingering fear that it's sort of an eternal Miranda Rights. EVERYTHING YOU SAY OR DO WILL BE HELD AGAINST YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME. Feels pretty permanent, doesn't it? Sort of like commitment. I kinda fail at commitment, too. Perhaps this is the problem. Or, more likely, I'm musing to the world instead of keeping it in my head where it belongs, and as with all conversations with myself, I don't actually have a point.

It is with a mixed bag of bravery to beat my own drum and certainty I definitely come across unprofessional that I will post this. Believe it or not, I'm giggling.

P.S. Speaking of giggling; Lenny my man, you're the sweetest kid under the sun.

Social Media

2011-02-23T08:30:00.000-06:00

So, I've been bullied into Facebook by my relations. I'd managed to do okay without it, but like my eventual cave to adopt Twitter, I opened a Facebook account and am not that impressed thus far. Probably because I still don't know how to work the stupid thing.

Anyway, other than that, I've lacked the ability to update this particular social media I've been using the longest. Literally NOTHING in my life has changed since the new year. There is zero to report. I have trouble coming up with something interesting, probably because I don't feel all that interesting these days. I'm in a slump, I know. I do a lot of waiting and that eats at me. We've all been there, right?

Hope everyone's doing well. I gotta drudge into work, my FAVORITE place. (Sarcasm does not drip, it runs like a river)

Hermit behavior

2011-02-08T20:06:00.000-06:00

I've been pretty guilty of it lately. My one year bloggiversary came and went, but my mind has been on tons of things other than my blog and my writing. I'm not proud. I'm not happy. I wish things would level out and I could go back to the way things were just a few months ago.

My computer went tits up last Wednesday and now I'm on a sort of temporary set up just so I can be online. I am the opposite of a happy camper about this. Luckily, I was able to salvage my four stories.

Here is another 100 word short I did a few weeks back. I hope everyone is doing okay and you're making a lot more progress than I am these days. Stay warm, y'all.

BIG BROTHER

Scandal’s ‘Goodbye to You’ warbled through static on his Trans Am’s radio. Mildew beneath the seats stank of old beer and fried food.

“You booze, you snooze, Flair Bear.” The pet name once warmed me, but my older brother fell from idol to scoundrel in my jaded eyes.

“It doesn’t go like that.”

I regretted getting in the car. He reached for the fisted hand on my thigh. I pulled back. His skin, mottled like jasper, told me all I needed to know.

The door protested as I climbed out. “Don’t come back.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“No. You won’t.”

Rolling In The Deep

2011-01-14T22:35:00.001-06:00

...is my newest temporary favorite song, sung by Adele. It sort of fits with the story below the picture. I swear I'm not totally random. At the moment.

Janet Reid had a writing contest several days ago and the winners were announced this morning. Alas, I am again NOT a winner of one of these contests she has periodically, but I find the exercise of writing a story in a hundred words or less using a few specific words tossed in a bit of fun (this time was abnegation, candor, dauntless, amity, and erudite). It's sort of like a puzzle. She's doing it again, so jaunt over to her blog tomorrow afternoon to enter for an ARC of "Divergent."

I don't actually need to link any of you to Janet Reid, do I?

Anyhoo, I rather liked my entry this time and wanted to share it with you guys. Hope you like it.

Foolish. Harsher words exist.

I tossed amity between our clans aside to burrow into his arms. I mistook abnegation for strength. Once dauntless and cunning, my cleared vision knew him a traitor and a fiend. Warmonger by proxy.

I’m no one’s scapegoat. My mistakes; my debt. I’ll pay none but mine.

Autumn leaves above mocked me. I’d been gone too long. I awaited my fate before a ring of erudite men who decided all. Candor was my only ally now.

“I was ignorant.”

They agreed.

“My penance?” I assumed my return.

“Death.”

“His?”

“Yes.”

“Done.”

Forgiveness with blood. Easy terms.

Lies We Tell Ourselves

2011-01-12T20:39:00.000-06:00

Ever notice the person you lie to the most in your life is yourself? Why do we do this? I mean, it's not like we don't know the truth. Example: I told myself earlier it didn't matter I was out of butter. My baked potato would still be just fine with enough cheese, mushrooms, and sour cream. Eghads. I pretty much just ate the toppings, and the ravaged husk of the pomme de terre is still sitting on my plate. (wow, 20 year flashback to French class)

There's other lies of course. They build up inside you, fester like boils you hope never pop and ooze all over the reality you've created for yourself. (I love the imagery, right?) Some of the great ones we tell ourselves this time of year, only we disguise them as 'New Year Resolutions.' Pft. I totally didn't bother this year. Know why? I've discovered I don't know what I want. Okay, well... money. That's a given, though. Everyone wants money. Again, why? Because this is a capitalist society and we cannot survive without currency, no matter how removed from society we fancy ourselves.

I tell myself off and on that I don't care if I get published. *coughbullshitcough* The literal truth is that it is irrelevant if I get published. I write because it's better than medication. I write because I have words that roil up inside me and escape my brim. I write because my thoughts are more entertaining to me most days than other entertainment outlets. Seriously, my mind is warped. It's like a playground that only I know how to enjoy. But most of all, I write because I have to.

Did you get that? I WRITE BECAUSE I HAVE TO.

Otherwise, there'd be a short (unimaginatively written) post somewhere about a woman who snapped and did something drastic. Like buy tofu in bulk. Okay, I'd never go that far, but whatever I did, it would be highly unpleasant and people would TALK. Mostly to the eyewitnesses of the spectacle that would be my breakdown. I predict nudity (not for the squeamish. I look like Jabba the Hutt and Michael Jackson's love child) and loud renditions of classic rock through a megaphone covered in glitter and scarves. Maybe even something worse.

My point is, writing is not a choice. It's not for me, and it probably isn't for you. Finding the time, deciding what to write, when, where, how, etc. - yes, those are all choices. But the writing itself: that is necessary for survival. In fact, if I was ever on Survivor, I'd be on the beach with a stick, writing in the sand.

It would double as a weapon, if need be.

So, told yourself any good lies lately?

A Rainy Day in Texas

2011-01-09T10:09:00.000-06:00

It's been raining for at least five hours. The nutter I am, my mood is actually improved by a cloudy, drizzly day. It's a soothing sound; steady drops on the roof, the crinkle of the dried leaves in the yard as their pelted, the dull sky and empty streets give a sense of solitary, as if there's been an Apocolypse I slept through. Time, which usually dashes by as it gives me the finger, slows to pass me at a meander and give a dismissive shrug instead.

I'm at a crossroads the last several days. I'm the suck at decisions, and I've needed to make one. I put it off in the usual ways: avoidance, denial, occupying myself with other things, etc. But the fact remains; a decision looms.

Which MS do I work on?

I stopped working on MS3 several weeks ago. Real life threw me a lot and writing wasn't in the cards during the holidays. Now that the new year has arrived, I know I should be working on something, and logic states I should return to the WIP. But something happened about a week ago, and every time I sit down at the computer to add to chapter 9 of MS3, my mind wanders back to what happened a week ago: I wrote a new beginning to MS1 which popped into my head. The beginning led to a realization of how I could make the book 300% better.

My muse begs me to go back to MS1, a.k.a. kick a dead horse. It had no agent interest nor feedback as to why it had no agent interest. It could have been the length, but it could have been anything. MS2 had several agents ask for partials and fulls, and people who've read what I've done so far on MS3 like it as much if not more than MS2, so logic dictates it might have more agent interest when I query than MS2 did. But my muse longs for Dead Horse MS1. The artist in me wants to follow my muse, but the part of me that wants to be published someday says I should only look forwards and not backwards.

I'm sure even the greats wish they could revisit something they wrote and make it better. Logic tells me it's a bad idea. Anyone else have this problem at times? How do you get past it?

Guess Who's Not Dead

2011-01-03T19:54:00.001-06:00

Well, there's you, of course. Look at you, all lively and filled with hope for the new year!

There's me, obviously. I know I vanished for over a month, and I'll make no excuses. I'd think of blogging and couldn't think of a single thing to say that wasn't already being said by everyone else. I hope you all had a great holiday season, and I hope your Monday didn't suck too awful bad.

In a few weeks is my one year blog anniversary. I think about the year I've had, and it's definitely been a rollercoaster of hope and dismay. I think I've achieved my happy place, though. I'm not defeated. I'd like to think of it as pacing myself. For so many months I worked tirelessly (or dragging ass at times) on finding an agent. I wrote two MSS. Started two more. I kept pushing myself, and you know what? I don't operate that well under pressure, especially pressure I put on myself. I had about ten agents ask for partials or fulls on my second MS, and I let myself get wrapped up in the hope of being published.

I've reached a point of patience I didn't know I had. I'll keep toiling, at my own pace on the stories I want to write. Sometimes I think I should write to the market. I've been told my stories are too far removed from mainstream that I'm shooting myself in the foot. I decided I'm okay with that. I'd rather 'make it' on a book that is 'me' than a book I wrote I didn't enjoy, and have to write more just like it or similar to it. I just need to find an agent that fits; one that gets my quirky humor and thinks my crazy stories will appeal to enough readers to make it worth their while.

Right? Maybe? I suspect this might be another lie to myself.

How 'bout you guys? Keeping it real or swimming in fantasy? Anyone land an agent while I sat on the couch this month, nursing my allergy to the internet?

Christmas Countdown

2010-12-01T20:56:00.000-06:00

Did anyone else write the date today and go, "OH CRAP!" ?

I've been back since Sunday, but every night I sit here and can't think of much to say. Or at least anything I want immortalized on the internet for the world to read for all eternity.

Nano was a bust for me. Too much happened every night I got home, then company came, then I was out of town, so yeah... I only managed about 6,000 new words on my WIP. I haven't even looked at it in two weeks. I don't remember what's going on, to be honest. I need to read it again and get back on track. Not tonight. Tonight I'm wore out from a full day's work and an agonizing death march around the mall.

I still have a partial with one agent and a full MS with a publisher who showed interest. We'll see how it all turns out eventually, I suppose. I hope for the best, but the reality is - it's tough out there.

Yesterday I got an unexpected email. My longest fanfic has been nominated for an award. The sentiment is nice, and I really do appreciate it. I won't know the results until the end of December. Voting starts December 10th. What surprised me was that anyone even remembered it. I haven't updated it since July 2008.

Out of curiosity, I signed into fanfic.net and discovered something amazing: people still read my story. It's had over 300 visitors in November, and over 1500 hits. I looked at the history of the last year, and every month is like that -some a little better, some a little less. Altogether, it's had over 195,000 hits. I about fell out of my chair when I saw that last night. Maybe I should go back to fanfic, eh?

I hope everyone is doing well and keeping warm.

Catching Up

2010-11-20T08:25:00.000-06:00

It will come as no surprise to some of you that I was at a midnight showing opening night for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, or that I was there in costume. Okay, to be honest, I was going to go in costume, but decided I'd be too hot so just wore my Time Turner. I have a Death Eater outfit that I wear to all the midnight book and movie things, but this time I just didn't feel like bothering with it.

While I like all the movies and consider them more works of fanfiction than a translation of text to film (to keep my sanity and my hair), I will say I was very impressed with Deathly Hallows. It was hilarious and amazingly sad, but we knew the latter, right? I was highly impressed with their ability to weave humor into such a dark piece.

******TINY SPOILER ALERT FOR SOMETHING NOT PLOT MOVING*****Unfortunately for me, about half way through the movie, it took the mickey out of me. In my fourth MS (which is an MG), I have the portals to the other world being out of order toilets. There's a scene in DH where they travel by toilet. Now I have to change it or it'll look like I copied the idea. If it's actually IN the books, I don't recall it.

On a side note, I won an Honorable Mention from the Women on Writing website for their Summer 2010 Flash Fiction Contest, judged by agent Kathleen Ortiz:
http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/42-FE1-Summer10Contest.html
It was for a rewritten version of You Are, which I posted several months ago. I won a couple of e-books and a $20.00 Amazon gift card, which is nice.

I hope everyone is doing well. I've been trying for a couple of promotions at work so that's been taking a lot of my energy. No matter how much we love writing, our jobs are what pay the bills, right? On occasion, I'm capable of proper priorities and being responsible like a real adult.

My daughter's in town now and we'll be out of town together for most of this week, so I will go ahead and wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving in case I don't get another chance to post before then.

NaNoWri-not so much

2010-11-03T08:44:00.000-05:00

So, Day 1 of NaNo was a bust. I got zero words written. I had a late night at work, then stuff happened afterwards, so it was pretty much NaNot.

Last night I got 1305 words written. It's under the daily expected, but try as I might - I couldn't just keep going. This whole word vomit thing is beyond me. I paused, I plotted, I carefully constructed each sentence, and at one point I even took about ten minutes to decide what a lesser character's name should be.

And you know what? I'm good with that. I know I won't make the 50,000. I knew that going in. I'll be out of town the last week of November. I have company coming on the 17th. I joined NaNo to force myself to do the butt-in-chair on a daily basis. Even if I only write 20,000 new words, that's 20,000 more than I had.

So tonight, when I get home from work after 6pm, I'll do my best to write another 5+ pages of carefully constructed sentences. For those of you who are awesome at the word vomit thing (I'm looking at you, Mia and Emily) more power to you. I won't deny I have literary penis envy.

Have a great Wednesday, y'all!

My 100th Blogpost

2010-10-31T20:26:00.000-05:00

I waited until today so my 100th post would be on my favorite holiday, Halloween. or Samhain for some.

Okay, guys. NaNoWriMo. For some of you, it has already started. For me, it's not officially time for 3 1/2 hours. I haven't signed into my account (I know, I suck) to do my updates and connect with people because... okay, I could drone on about real life and whatnot, but the truth is: I'm a forgetful cow who is easily distracted by anything shiny.

Or with awesome special effects.

Trick-or-Treating etiquette is apparently a thing of the past. A group of six kids came to my door. Every single one of them grabbed heaping handfuls of candy out of my bowl and one little bugger grabbed THREE. He just kept coming back as long as I had the door open for the other kids in his group. HIS PARENTS SAID NOTHING.

At least I'm smart enough to just set my kids loose without me so I don't have to excuse their bad behavior or scold them in front of other people. Ah. Blissfully ignorant, me. My other awesome parenting tactic is to cover my ears and say 'lalalalalalalalala' a lot until they give up trying to tell me something I don't want to hear.

This doesn't work as well with bill collectors. Just saying.

On another note, I guess I spoke too soon. I got a partial request for Postmortal today. "PADDLES, STAT!" *beep* *beep* *beep* We'll see if she pulls through.

There's the doorbell again. I wonder if handsmacking is allowed in Trick-or-Treating etiquette...

Flatlined Again

2010-10-28T07:41:00.000-05:00

So, I think I'm calling it: Postmortal has died. Which is ironic, considering its content. It's been several weeks since I sent out the last queries, and while I had requests for fulls and partials in the beginning, no one's asked for more in three months and I'm out of agents. My second MS has flatlined, and now joins Lesser Evils in the Abandoned Department.

I'm okay with that. Sure, it stings a bit, but I'll get over it. I've done it before. I've been working on a couple of other things, and maybe one of them will work out. I've definitely felt a severe dip in my gungho-ness, though. I enjoy what I'm working on, and that's all that matters. The love of writing will be there, even if the only people who ever read my work are my family and a few 'readers' I have that read my chapters as I go.

NaNoWriMo is something a lot of us are participating in soon. This will be my first time. I'm going to use it get my butt in gear to finish at least one of the ones I've started. I know this breaks the rules, but I'm not actually competing with anyone but myself. I'm the sort to slowly type up a chapter and edit as I go, with each paragraph and dialogue tag scrutinized before I move forward. I don't turn back until the entire thing is written, then read back through it to make sure the pacing is good and fix something here and there. Just sitting back and letting the words flow is going to be a whole new challenge for me.

So, who all is doing NaNo this year? Have you been outlining and making notes? Or do you just have an idea and are going to see how it goes?

So, I'm a Goober

2010-10-21T07:54:00.000-05:00

Today I'm a goober writer for Goober Writer's Anonymous over at Emily's Playhouse.

Who am I kidding? I'm a goober writer every day. Sometimes just a plain ol' goober. I make mistakes. I doubt myself. I feel like an idiot for pursuing a dream instead of being content with 'the day job.' I have some days when I'm excited about what I'm working on, then some days when it feels futile. Time consuming. I have this fear that twenty years from now I'll still be unpublished, and I'll look back at my life and regret I wasn't living it as I could have been.

But that's the risk we're all taking together, isn't it?

I hope everyone has a fabulous Thursday.

Immitating Others

2010-10-18T07:20:00.000-05:00

I had a mild panic attack yesterday. I was talking to my thirteen-year-old about my MG I've started. I was explaining my main character and the world he discovers, and I was very excited (and a little proud) of how different it was than anything else I'd ever seen.

Up until she said, "Oh, that's just like *insert name of popular children's book*."

No, not Harry Potter. I'd never in a zillion years accidentally immitate Potterverse. I'm a well-versed Potterdork. But this series she compared mine to is also pretty popular. I knew it because I'd bought her each book as it came out. I've never read it. I've never even read the back to find out what it was about. I just knew she liked it. So, with her words I went from excited to incredibly depressed in 2.4 seconds.

She brought me the books for me to look over. I googled the series. Researched the characters, plot arc and motivations, and am relieved to say mine is still very different from that one. There *are* similarities, though. Unintentional ones. I know this is to do with the fact that *there are no new ideas.* Even that one is compared to another previous author's work.

So how, in this world of millions of books, can we possibly know *our* ideas are fresh and new? They probably aren't. Someone else has already written your book with different characters and motivation. And not necessarily in book form. I told my friend about one element and they said, "Oh, that's like a Dr. Who episode." Crap. I've read jacket copy of some books and said to myself, "That's a Buffy episode."

It sucks, but we have to soldier on and hope that our new take or twist is different enough to not be considered immitation hacks. I don't watch Dr. Who. I haven't read many of my daughter's books. There's the possibility (or inevitability) that if this book finds representation and is published, someone will think I've copied someone else. But none of us do that on purpose, do we? We don't *want* to be like others. We want to entertain with our newness, not disappoint with our similarity.

This might be a bad idea, but I hope an agent would help in this regard. If they are interested in the book, but think parts are too similar to something I've never heard of, they'd let me know so I can change it. Unless they discard mine from the get-go for being too similar. It's a frightening possibility.

Has this happened to any of you? Have you thought you had a new take or idea, only to discover it's been done?

Just My Two Cents

2010-10-14T08:48:00.000-05:00

There's been a lot of talk about the agent/potential client dynamic in regards to the query system. I think we can all agree the system is far from perfect. We, as writers and hopeful clients, feel great frustration when we receive form rejections or no response at all. Agents -trust me- feel that same frustration when they have to weed through a bunch of crazies to find something that is different enough to sell, but same enough to fit the market.

I would never want this job. Yes, most of them rave about how much they love their jobs, and I'm sure they do. It's just not for me. They are always working. If they are awake, they're working. If, gods forbid, the tweet about having dinner with a friend, some assume they are being 'too busy socializing' to read our queries. Personally, I think that's a scapegoat reaction: blaming someone else for our own shortcomings. Agents are humans, too. They have every right to eat, drink, catch some sleep, and mingle with other humans. One agent said she got over 1,200 queries in one month. If she spent only 2 minutes on each, that's about 45 hours of reading queries. That's more than a full week for most of us. And it's not even their job.

What really needs to be done, in my opinion, is for there to be a more streamlined approach to the whole thing. Agents have become the gatekeepers for the publishing houses that can no longer afford to pay people to read manuscripts. I'm old enough to remember when they did this. They would advertise "get paid to read books from home." Now the agent does it, and they do it for free.

Yes, there's their 15%. But let's take a look at that. The average debut author makes $5,000 - $10,000 on their first book. On the high end, that's $1,500. How many hours did the agent spend reading the book? Editing it? Reading it again? How many hours did it take them to draft their proposals? Pimp to editors? Work on the contract? Where do many of them live? New York. It's a pretty expensive place. That $1,500.00 is a pittance for the work they put in. In the meantime, they are reading our query letters for free, and if time permits, replying for free.

It's not their fault the system is what it is. Nor is it even the publishing houses. There's only so many slots and there's a whole bunch of us. We need to find a better way. Let's try to think of one.

Now For Something Completely Different...

2010-10-11T21:50:00.000-05:00

I remembered something today that made me wonder why I'm pursuing publication: I wrote for fun. I wrote for the joy of making people laugh, making people worry, making people gasp in shock or squee with delight at something I made happen. My first attempts at writing fiction (in the last decade) started about five years ago. On an impulse to try something new, I began writing fanfic.

It was for my own amusement in the beginning. I was waiting for the next Harry Potter book to come out (Half Blood Prince) and had been directed to a fanfic website by Mugglenet.com. I saw so many stories, and I wanted to see what I could come up with as well. It was great fun. I'd post a chapter, people would read it, they'd leave comments about their favorite parts or try to guess what was going to happen next. There was real interaction there, and I miss that.

I love to make people laugh. I would frantically write out long chapters in long hand during the day, then type them up and post them as fast as I could. Sometimes I wrote three chapters a week (which was about 20,000 words). I had such fire then, such a burning desire to entertain my readers and give them the next piece of the puzzle, the next clue, the next heartbreaking event.

I look back at that work now and I cringe. I've learned so much on my writing journey, I can hardly stand to look at the amateur gibberish I posted. But my readers loved it, weirdly. I miss them. I was led astray by their encouragement to write my own work, to try to get published.

And I realized today my attempt to be published has been selfishly motivated. It became about me and my desire to prove to myself I was 'worthy' or something. But I was happiest when I was writing my nutty stories and getting the joy of a reader's reaction immediately. I used to post a chapter then hover over my email for an hour, just waiting to see what the next comment would be.

Writing a novel isn't like that, is it? You work countless hours on a story and only friends, family, beta readers, alpha readers, or your critique group ever see it. If it's not worth publishing, it gets shelved. It seems like such a waste. You hold on to the hope that maybe someday, if everything goes right and works out, you might get an agent who will read it and maybe try to sub it as well as the work that interested them. Or they might tell you it's a lost cause and to move on to something new.

I don't know what I want, I guess. I would like to make money doing something I enjoy instead of something I hate. But more than that, I want to entertain people. It's what I do. I was never after fame and fortune. I'd be happy with a caricature of me on the back of my books, to be honest. I've seen authors say they dread book signings and being involved in publicity, but to me that'd be the most fun. I've been a vendor at fantasy and comic conventions and it's a hoot to interact with people.

I'm not giving up. Not by a long shot. But today I've been thinking long and hard about when I'm the happiest with my writing, and it's when I know immediately I've made other people smile or even laugh a little.

Not with this post, obviously. I'm sort of the Eeyore of blogging today.

What do you like most about writing? Think back to when you first started writing. What motivated you? What kept you going? What made it the most fun?

The Answers

2010-10-07T08:05:00.000-05:00

We want them. Who has them? As writers, we spend a lot of time on the internet, don’t we? We join forums, blog, tweet, and follow every link someone posts about articles written by ‘those in the know.’ We try to stay abreast of publishing, are wary of trends and following them, see what deals are (and are not) being made. We judge our work against others. We sometimes read a book and ask ourselves, “Why this book and not mine?”

We watch the e-book debates with furrowed brows. We read the agents’ posts about the unimaginable number of queries they get in a month, and sigh at the futility of it all. Who are we to think we’re special? That we are so much better than other writers out there? Are we kidding ourselves?

What do agents want? What do publishers want? What do they not want? What is too high a word count? Too low? What genres are selling? What aren’t? Who represents what, and who won’t touch YOUR genre with a ten foot pole? Why?

We have so many questions, don’t we? See? I asked two more. Sometimes it feels like our bitty brains are going to explode from all the questions rattling around like firecrackers in our heads. But take heart, my friends. I will tell you the biggest secret in the history of the universe (aside from the true role of cereal mascots). I know who knows the answers to all our questions.

You do.

Don’t believe me? That’s okay. Sit back and relax, grab something to drink, focus your thoughts into your biggest questions, and ask one of yourself. Instead of googling it, instead of scrolling through the thousands of blogs you’ve read, draw upon your memory for the answers. Not there? Try again. It might take time, but you already know the answers.

1. What do agents want? – Books they will fall in love with so they can sell them to the best of their ability. If you’re not in love with your own book, you know no one else will love it either. Would you recommend your book for others to read? Would you proudly proclaim ownership of your book with no apologies? If not, no agent will either. You know this. See? I’m not making this up.

2. Why this book and not mine? – Timing and patience. Your book was not done at the same time that one was. Your book was not submitted to that agent on that day when they had room on their list. Your book was not what that agent wanted. Your book was not ready. It needed more time. It needed more attention, more editing, more revising, more plot resolution. You know this. Publishing takes time and patience. There’s more answers to that question, and I promise you, you already know them.

3. Who are we to think we’re special? -- Rhetorical, you say? No, this is a valid question. And you already know the answer. Each book written is special. It takes us on a journey to new places where we meet new people, and maybe even discover new creatures or strange governments. Like snowflakes (or writer flakes if we’re truly honest), our books are special, as is our ability to tell our stories.

4. What do publishers want? – Books that will sell. It’s business, my friend. You know that. Simplicity at its finest.

5. Word counts, genres, prologues, POV, tense, omg, my head’s going to explode! – The answer to these are so easy it’s ridiculous. What is the right choice? Your way. As long as you’re good at what you do, as long as you’ve honed your craft and can tell a story, none of that matters. Don’t scoff. Don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s true. Go to a Best Sellers section at any bookstore. On those shelves you will see varying word counts, multiple genres, prologues (it’s TRUE!), all POV, varying tenses, and a multitude of ‘mistakes’ we worry about. Stop sweating it. All you need is number 2. No, not ‘number two,’ potty brain. Number 2, above: Time and patience. If you believe in yourself and your work, you WILL make it someday.

And you already knew that.

Staying Positive

2010-10-05T20:35:00.000-05:00

It's hard, isn't it? It feels like the cards are stacked against us. There are so many highs and lows, and sometimes it feels like there's a whole lot more lows than there is highs.

I was doing okay. I won Honorable Mention in S.E. Slinkhorn's Mash-Up Contest last week, which definitely put a smile on my face. I got an email that I was a finalist in the Women on Writing's contest, so that perked me up a bit, too. I've been getting positive feedback from readers of my latest two projects, and that helped me feel like I was on the right track - that maybe I don't totally suck when I write more than a page of crazy rant stuff (e.i. my shorts).

Then it happened. I got my last partial request back with a rejection. I wanted to stay positive. I know it's subjective. But as I pondered agents in querytracker tonight, I got a huge dose of the why-am-I-even-bothering blues. I had 7 total requests out of 40 queries, and still have 23 queries waiting for a response. I expect many of those to never have a response at all.

To be positive, I try to think of that as 11% positive response. There was *something there* which interested agents, I just lacked *something else* which kept their attention. I'm trying to not think it's my writing. None of the 7 had a word of feedback for me, so I have nothing to go on. Just my own insecurities whispering in my ear. I'm wondering how old I will be when I finally get published. I'm wondering what the publishing landscape will look like by then. I'm wondering why no one who loves me hasn't won the lottery and rescued me from my day job.

Okay, that one I wonder at least twice an hour M-F, so it doesn't count right now.

So tell me, how do you guys stay positive? Supportive friends? Certainty of superiority? Alcohol? Prescription medication?

Mash-Up Contest

2010-10-01T08:10:00.000-05:00

This is for Steph Slinkhorn's Mash-Up. http://maybegenius.blogspot.com/

Hazard a guess at the genres.

LINGERING ANONYMOUSLY

I’ve been here for years, but the internet has yet to make me famous.

As easily as air, I could slip into anyone’s home. From my house to any house to any place of employment that has a connection, I can be found lingering, just a few keystrokes away.

Even better are the portable units tucked into people’s bags or slung over their shoulders. I might even get to sit in a pretty girl’s lap in the park once in a while, when the signal is good. Sadly, I have no memory of any of this because no one ever pushes the right buttons to bring me to where they are.

I’m starting to take it personally.

People come and go. It’s like they aren’t even real. There is a body on the other side, isn’t there? A being that breathes, has hopes and dreams. So why do you vanish for days at a time then come back with a new icon? Do you do this in real life? I think your boss would fire you if you took ten days off without notification then came back with a facelift.

If it is the anonymity that attracts us to cyberspace, then why do people try so hard to make friends? More importantly (because I’m a priority over any of you), why do all of mine disappear?

Impatiently, I wait for the people I know to appear as little yellow circles on my screen. Each day there are fewer and fewer.

She blocked me on her one account, but she doesn’t know I know the other. I see her sign off and on. I know her new schedule now. It’d be safest to go to her apartment between noon and prime-time, since I think her roommate moved out and it’ll be empty. I just… miss the smell of her. Is that a crime?

The Rejectionist's Uncontest

2010-09-27T21:59:00.000-05:00

So, http://www.therejectionist.com/ is doing an uncontest. I was originally not going to participate, but I read other entries and some masochistic part of me said, 'WOW! I was WAY lamer than that. I need to share!'

Whatever respect you may have had for me will soon evaporate. I will pull pieces of entries that began when I was 13 years old and sentenced to a year in an all girls private Catholic School. That's how it felt anyway - a sentence. So, when you read words like 'campus' or 'campused' that means the school and being grounded by the school for less than stellar behavior.

I'm including the spelling mistakes and grammar scariness, mine and Margie's.

WARNING: WAY TOO POTTY MOUTHED FOR DISNEY

January 22, 1988
Met Ron. Me & Paula & Tina faught over him, but we let him choose & he chose me! I stopped seeing Nels. He's an asshole! & stopped seeing Dean. He's got a girlfriend that looks like Tiffany, the singer!

January 23
Met Ron again. I like him a lot. He's a virgin! (note added 05/19/88: Bull Shit!)

Feb 13
Got arrested for drinking underage & Genni arrested for drinking and driving underage. We were with Huey & Greg in his Daytona. Mom's pissed.
P.S. Ron gave me a red single rose! It's gorgeous & perfect, but I'm still campused from getting in car with Todd & Dean.

Feb 15
LOADS OF EMO CRAP ABOUT SUICIDE AND BOYS.

Feb 28
CRAZY RANT ABOUT STALKING RON. I'M TOTALLY NOT POSTING THAT. TRY TO REMEMBER I WAS 13 AND REALLY STUPID.

Inserted note from best friend Margie (who spelled my name wrong)on same page:
Christy - I seriously doubt you will ever read this again escepially since you never touch your diary but remember you are the weirdest person I have ever met & that I ever will! - me

March 8, 1988
*lots of scribbling*
nothing
Christi

April 11, 1988
Well, Sunday I met Eric. I met him on Easter. I met Benji on the 8th. I had fun. We made out alot. He lives in Denver. He's gonna take me to California, maybe. I love him.
------------
I'm going to spare you guys the rest. Just take with you the knowledge there are far too many pages in my diary with a new boy name on them. I was the picture in the dictionary next to the term 'boy crazy.'

Do I seem any less lame if I admit to having many drawings of 'the bird' or rock band name lettering in boxes? Probably not. Most pages also contain far too many hearts and the words 'love' or 'kill myself.' 13 was rough, y'all. I ain't gonna lie.

Be thankful I've omitted the poetry.

The Passion - a short

2010-09-22T19:55:00.000-05:00

So, it's been a while since I wrote a new one. The random spark flared last night and I polished it up today after work. It's exceedingly short (164 words) but to add any more would take away from it, I think. Or maybe I could write my fourth novel from this humble beginning? Just thinking out loud, as I'm wont to do. Anyhoodle, enjoy.

The Passion

It was the passion of the thing that moved me.

Those hushed voices, a murmur of disbelief in my ears. All else shrank from my reality like heavy clouds sucked into a silent vacuum, leaving only the blood which danced down his fingers and my entranced gaze.

Pressure built in a painful swell until I released it in a primal scream that threatened to pull my lungs out into the heavens with it. Fear was not the blanket into which I crawled. My cowardly feet twitched to move, but I remained. Grief blipped like a sonar screen in my mind, scanning the void for emotion. It found none; only irreconcilable awe.

I was enamored by the passion.

The crumpled body before me was an unfortunate side effect of a man’s emotions stripped bare. Rage and love, a two headed beast, swallowed the man whole in an instant, and the flash of steel carried away my mother.

I used to call the man my father.

Time to SPEAK up

2010-09-19T17:48:00.000-05:00

There's a lot of chatter on the internet today about Laurie Halse Anderson's book SPEAK and the suggestion it be considered a banned book for being 'soft porn.' There are numerous posts about this. Janet Reid’s got a few links on her post, and the author has some words about the suggestion in her post here: Laurie Halse Anderson

What I want to speak about is the post I read written by CJ Redwine.

Those who have followed my blog for a while might understand how important the topic is to me because I'm using honest to goodness links instead of just writing out an address in my usual lazy way. CJ's courage has given me a drop of my own.

Back in April, during Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I posted a couple works of fiction to help spread awareness.

And yet, there is truth in that fiction.

It's not an easy thing to talk about. It's certainly not the sort of small talk you have at a bar or a party. Most people who know me are aware of what I've been through. Why? Because I'm not ashamed. I don't blame myself for what happened. I was young, small, weak, and far too ignorant about the evils of this world when I had my experiences.

Yes. Experiences.

When I read CJ's blog post, it was like reading my own diary entry. I was molested by the son of a family minister for four years, beginning when I was five. When I say 'minister,' I don't mean your typical minister. This man had his own small 'flock' of which a family member was a part of, and I was taken to this man's home and left alone for hours with his son who -I assume- was trusted. The truth is, the whole lot of them were a weird bunch of people, and I was saved from a continuation of such 'attention' by my father's decision to move us as far away as possible from those lunatics as he could.

I tried to speak up once. I suspected what the son was doing to me was wrong. Unfortunately, another young girl in 'the flock' had accused her father of the same thing, and it was decided that I was 'just looking for attention.' I was punished for my sinful lies, and I never mentioned it again.

I 'wasn't right in the head' for years. I didn't know how to socialize with boys. I didn't know how to accept affection from my family or friends. When I was eleven I met my best friend. She was the sweetest person I have ever met, and I think about her every day, even though I have not seen her in twenty years.

We shared our secrets, and hers was far more sinister than mine. She actually made me feel lucky for what I'd been through. Her mother would give her as payment to men for drugs. Yes, that's no typo. From the time since before she could remember, her mother would let grown men sexually assault her own daughter in exchange for cocaine, crack, meth, or whatever they had.

We lived in a small town in Colorado with no more than 5,000 souls. A beautiful tourist trap town predominantly German and Italian in descent. This was not a high crime inner city or 'the scary part of town,' and yet the very same evil lurked in the shadows of majestic mountains and slithered along fresh streams. Her family was not poor. Her mother just didn't want her father to know she was doing drugs so offered my friend's tiny body in lieu of payment. It was proof, for me, that evil really was everywhere. I had not escaped it when my father had moved us so far away from the scary nutjobs.

I won't go into any details of what my four years in the private company of a young man was like, but I will say that I somehow escaped with my virginity in tact. A small mercy, especially compared to what my friend suffered. I managed to cling to my virginity until I was thirteen. One month and twelve days after my thirteenth birthday, to be exact. I remember it every year. It's a pretty hard thing to forget. I had been out with my friends, and a 'friend of a friend' offered to drive me home. Instead, he drove me out into the country where no one could hear me scream as he... well, you can guess the rest.

I was afraid to tell anyone, especially my parents. I thought I deserved it for being so stupid. I thought no one would believe me because he was so popular and widely loved in our community. As time passed, it festered in me. I let myself believe I was destined to know nothing but suffering. I had more abusive relationships than I care to go into.

I found my strength again about a decade ago. Sometimes it all seems so far away, and I know that dwelling on the past serves no purpose. But learning from it - yes. I'm open with my daughters about my experiences. I'm probably even a little annoying at my frequent reminders of how they can tell me anything. They need to know what dangers there are in the world, and they need to know they can talk about them.

They need books like SPEAK. Every girl and boy does. Please click on the links at the beginning of my post. We cannot sit idly by while some ignorant (and frankly a bit demented) man calls rape 'mild porn' and lose a chance to maybe save some poor child's life. They need to know they are not alone. Even if they don't have the strength or courage to speak about it, they need to know they are not to blame, and they can find their strength again.

I am a sexual assault survivor, and I am not ashamed.

Procrastination is my BFF

2010-09-09T09:13:00.000-05:00

In fact, if there were a land called Procrastinationia, I'd totally be the queen of that place. Instead of ordering executions and demanding tax increases, It'd be decreed that scheduling events would be punishable by death or giving me a pedicure, criminal's choice.

The truth is, I need a deadline. When left to my own devices, it can take me ages to get around to something I need to do. Those of you who won critique from my contest know this is true. I'm also terribly forgetful. If I've slept since I agreed to something, I need to be reminded. Sleep erases my short term memory, therefore the premise of 50 First Dates was totally believable to me.

If anyone was expecting a point to this post, I don't have one. I was just sharing some random thoughts. I wrote a blog post a couple days ago, but blogger ate it and I got mad, cursed at it, then walked away. Now I forgot what I blogged about, so you get this randomness instead. Clearly, it wasn't earth shattering information or worth remembering, so you're probably better off.

Speaking of earth shattering, do you ever feel pressure to hurry up and get published before the world ends in 2012? I mostly don't believe it, but part of my psyche has latched onto it and knows the world with blow up one day BEFORE my release date. Let me apologize in advance to mankind for making the world end. I'm sure I have the power to control the cosmos. It's in that other 90% of my brain that I don't use often.

So, update on MSS?

Lesser Evils - pretty much abandoned at this point. I'll revisit it if I ever get an agent.

Postmortal - 26 rejections, 23 awaiting response, and at least 5 of those are going to be no response = no. 16 of those were sent in recent history, so I haven't given up on them yet.
Partial requests: 5, rejected: 4.
Full MS requested: 2, rejected: 1.

Cyber Hugs All Around! (maybe the pink is effecting my brain)

2010-09-03T09:00:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know. My blog is very post modern Valentine. I cannot find a layout I'm happy with. I need something more 'me.' I'm a fantasy/sci-fi girl. You'll definitely see some changes when I have the time to mess with it again.

Most of you share the common bond with me of being writers. We are all blogging and on forums, doing all we can in order to learn more about the craft and the industry of publishing. We share our joys and our woes. We ride the rollercoaster of good news/bad news from the industry professionals, and we wonder if we'll ever get our chance to ride the rails.

But we are all different. What separates us? Genre. Because of this, we have different agents we query, and different blogs and sites we frequent. Some of us are members of RWA or SFWA while others are members of CWA, MWA, ITW, or one of the YA Lit groups. Due to this, cliques are possible. People tend to gravitate towards other people with common interests.

What I love about the writing community, however, is that we don't do this. Sure, we know what our friends are up to, and that their preferences aren't like ours. But at the same time we recognize we are all in this shaky boat together, and we are there to help each other succeed in any way we can.

We don't break down to competitiveness or pettiness. We are competing against each other for a coveted slot with an agent, but instead of tripping each other or putting gum in their hair, we cheer each other on. We're so past high school crap, and that rocks.

I love us. Seriously, I'm so proud. It almost puts a dent in my eternal cynicism. Almost.

So, what groups are you all in? Where do you spend most of your time online?

Hiatus Complete!

2010-09-01T11:43:00.000-05:00

Miss me at all? Surely not. You have all been fiendishly typing away on your manuscripts, right? I'm SO RIDICULOUSLY BEHIND, and I hang my head in shame. Quick updates all around, then I'll entertain you with a story.

I still have one partial and one full MS out. I stopped querying a few weeks ago for the most part because I have a couple of opportunities in the works and I want to see how those pan out first. I hope to give an update on my super sekrit stuff soon.

Those of you waiting on me for feedback... I'M SORRY. My kids were my priority the last few weeks and all my time went to them. I swear I'm using the next several days to get caught up on things I'm doing for you. I'm off work until Tuesday due to a death in the family.

Now for story time. I used to post little stories all the time, and I've been slacking on that pretty seriously the last couple of months. I'm reposting one of my favorite moments in my life that I originally posted back in February before most of you found my page.

For the record, I'm doing much better now, but the first couple of months of this year were very, very difficult. I'm not trying to rehash my obstacles. I just wanted to share again how awesome my kids are, and why this was originally aptly named:

------------------------------------
Why I'd Kill For My Kids -original post February 17th 2010

As some of you know, I've had surgery recently. Two of them, in fact, back to back. One in November, and then (due to complications) a second, more awful one. I've been off from work since November 10th. I went three weeks without any pay until my disability started paying 80% of my wages. Christmas for me and my girls sucked. I won't go into my financial difficulties, but rest assured: they suck. Like... can't afford Chex Mix suck (my lifeblood).

My girls have taken it in stride, although the odd complaint now and again makes me feel like a failure as a mother. I am still home from work, and though I've used this time to try to find an agent and feel productive, I still feel like a failure. My youngest is turning 13 in two weeks, and I can't afford to throw her a nice birthday to commemorate her entrance into the awesomeness it is to be a woman.

Said child did something amazing this morning. I was still in bed (as I don't get around too good most days) and I heard her as she sang to herself while making a bowl of cereal, then dragged the trash can to the curb (a day late. She thought it was Tuesday), then heard her outside with her friends while they waited for the bus. A few minutes later she came running back into the house, then left again, then came back inside.

I called to her to ask what she was doing. She came into my room and said, "Ashley was selling band candy. I went and got my last two dollars so I could get you some. I put it on your desk."

I argued she needed that money for lunch money, and I didn't need any chocolate.

She said, "School lunch is $2.75. We don't have that. I made a sandwich. Chocolate makes you feel better, anyway." Then she ran back outside before I could reply, hollering through the (very thin walls) that she loved me.

And I love her, too. I love her so damned much.

Friday updates

2010-08-13T08:47:00.000-05:00

I don't have any of my own news still. I've two partials out and a full MS of my second book, POSTMORTAL, and to be honest I've not been sending out query letters for the most part the last couple of weeks. I'm enjoying the time with my daughters before the summer ends.

My first MS has gotten some surprise interest. I hope to update you guys with some news about that in the next few weeks. I don't want to count my chickens before they hatch, yeah?

In a way quite pimpish, I'm going to share some news I just gave myself this morning due to my googling. Remember this cover I showed you last Saturday?

The book is now number 8 in Poland. My little brother is so famous! I'm so proud of him. Another thing I discovered since my last post is that he has many other cover art projects he has done, and one of his more recent works is this:

Can you believe it?!? Sherrilyn Kenyon! Since I'm going to assume most of you don't speak Polish, that's the cover of Night Pleasures from the Dark Hunter Series. He's working with someone to do the series' covers. I'm so giddy with pride.

Well, I'm off to work since that winning lottery ticket remains elusive. I hope you all have a rockin' weekend, and I should be back to my post-y self in a week or so. Miss you guys!

Exciting News

2010-08-07T09:08:00.000-05:00

Not my own news just yet, but exciting for my adopted little brother in Poland. He and I have been great friends for years. He spent last summer with me here in Texas and he's coming again next April.

Since we became friends, I've finished two books and he's been signed on as a cover artist for two publishers in Poland. I was browsing Polish book store websites this morning and found out that this book he is on the cover of:

is number 25 on the Best Seller's list in Poland. Isn't it pretty? He's such a good artist. He did the covers for the Melissa De La Cruz Blue Bloods series. These are his other covers:

To see his other amazing art, this is his webpage: Wojtek's Awesomeness

I don't have any news of my own just yet. I'm still spending time with my daughter while she's in town. We're off to my parents' house today. I have two partials and one full MS out with agents right now. Keep your fingers crossed. I hope everyone's doing good. Sorry for the absence, but I'll be back regularly in a week or two.

Miss you guys!

I'm On American Idol!

2010-07-22T08:25:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed, dearest blogging friends, that I have been somewhat absent of late, so I guess I need to make some sort of announcement regarding this. I'm not going on hiatus. I'm going on half-ass, which is a little different. My daughter is visiting from out of town for a few weeks so I will be online a lot less. I'll still pop in and take a looksee when I get a moment, but mostly I'll be in the living room watching Buffy or Angel episodes on DVD which is... what we do when we're together. I know it's not incredibly exciting, but I'm fairly poor and can't afford to eat out and hang out in theaters a lot.

During our drive back home to Texas from Colorado over the weekend, I had an epiphany of sorts. I've compared querying to fishing in a tiny boat in Lake Erie with 1,000 fish in the lake and thousands of other fishermen (fisherpersons?), and that felt pretty accurate, but now I've struck on a new, more accurate metaphor.

We're all on American Idol.

When we are at the query stage, we are that hopeful pre-fame starlet who is standing in line with a thousand other hopefuls, waiting for our chance to stand in front of three judges (agents) in the biz and have them tell us we're the most awesome thing they've seen all day. We all think we can sing (write) and we all think we have something fresh and new to offer.

We get our turn, and all eyes are focused on us. We might be a little out of tune, or possibly our dance moves look a bit like a puppet on puppet crack, but when we're done, we stand there, hopeful to have made at least one judge interested. There's plenty of Simons, aren't there? The ones who think we'll never make it. Then there's the others who see potential, but nothing they haven't seen before. Most of us leave the stage in tears or anger.

A precious few get to hear those precious words, "You're going to *insert name of city*!" and in the writing world those words are, "I'd love to see more. Send me X amount of pages."

Then the nail biting really starts. Will my performance be as good as/better/more marketable than the others? We wait in agony while our performance is in review, something we poured our heart and soul into. Only a handful of us, however, move on to the finals. In the writing world that is, "Please send me the full MS."

More agony ensues. We doubt ourselves. We dare to hope. We wait, we check our emails, we look around at our fellow hopefuls and wonder if the judges secretly like them better.

Then more heartbreak. They can't take us all. In the mighty words of Sean Connery, "There can be only one."

What stage in American Idol are you guys? I'm in the agonizing wait mode. I've four partials and one full MS out in the void right now, being judged. I'm hoping none of them are Simons in disguise. I sent my query feeling relatively confident, but now after weeks of waiting, I feel the doubt creeping in. It's no surprise. Like most writers, I'm my own worst critic.

I Write Like...

2010-07-14T09:00:00.001-05:00

So, I have a habit of compulsively doing something that sparks my interest. The last two days (aside from playing Text Twist on MSN until I forget how to spell the simplest words) I have been playing around in this thing. You guys should all try it. It's both heartening and soul crushing. It's called 'I Write Like' and it analyzes your writing style: http://iwl.me/

The results are in, and it turns out my little badge on the right is greatly misleading. I'm going to have to take it down and replace it with something else, but at the moment I'm undecided.

I entered every chapter of Lesser Evils individually into the analyzer (putting the whole MS into it crashed my internet. Don't do this. Learn from an idiot) and each chapter pulled a different result. I then did the same thing with Postmortal. Out of a combined 44 chapters it reviewed, only one pulled a female writer. So, I'm thinking of changing my badge to this:

Between both books, there are clear differences in my writing style. Lesser Evils favors a couple of authors the most while Postmortal leans greatly towards one different author.

Lesser Evils: 46% Dan Brown, 30% James Joyce, 6% H P Lovecraft, and 3% each Stephen King, Raymond Chandler, Ray Bradbury, Mario Puzo, J K Rowling, and (wtf?) Edgar Allan Poe.

Postmortal: 65% Stephen King, and 7% (a chapter a piece) Douglas Adams, H P Lovecraft, Isaac Asimov, Kurt Vonnegut, and Vladimir Nabokov.

So, in other words:

I won't do a chapter by chapter breakdown of Lesser Evils since it's boring, but I will share the breakdown of Postmortal because I find it very interesting.

Chapter 1: Kurt Vonnegut
Chapter 2: Douglas Adams
Chapter 3: Vladimir Nabokov
Chapter 4: Stephen King
Chapter 5: Stephen King
Chapter 6: Stephen King
Chapter 7: Isaac Asimov
Chapter 8: Stephen King
Chapter 9: H P Lovecraft
Chapter 10: Stephen King
Chapter 11: Stephen King
Chapter 12: Stephen King
Chapter 13: Stephen King
Chapter 14: Stephen King

It suggests that I tried a variety of influences before settling on a Stephen King style. I find this interesting as I've only ever FINISHED one Stephen King book. He's not really my cup of tea. I don't do scary. The one I read all the way through was Eyes of the Dragon. I put down Cujo and The Talisman. Cujo scared the crap out of me, and The Talisman just confused me. Then again, I was 12. Maybe I should try him again...

As for my little shorts I have posted in the side bar ------>
The results are this:

BOOM - Chuck Palahnuik
The End of the World - Margaret Atwood
A Typical Morning - Stephen King
You Are - Stephen King
Bitter Hands - Stephen King
We Are - Arthur Conan Doyle
I Am - Oscar Wilde
Peeping Tom - Chuck Palahniuk
Solo Pillow Talk - Dan Brown
Language is a Playground - Margaret Atwood
Eight True Things - Chuck Palahniuk

I've... uh... never heard of Chuck Palahnuik, but three of my pieces are similar to his style. Two are like Margaret Atwood, so maybe my 'inner penis' is smaller than I thought.

So, now you guys try. I'd love to hear the results.

AHEM Tammy Narayan, Lynn Simpson, Nicole Ducleroir, Roland Yeomans, and Justine Dell, you there?

2010-07-13T20:46:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I have an obnoxious streak. You people owe me addresses, stuff to ~~eviscerate~~ beta, and how you want your cold, hard cash redeemed. One of you has already done this, but I'm not singling anyone out. :-) Also, all contestants are welcome to send me a query letter or first chapter to take a looksee at, don't forget.

In other news... I don't have any. I have two partials and one full being reviewed by agents. I'm hoping for good news, of course.

In matters not related to writing, I'm flying to Colorado on Saturday. I'll be gone for the weekend. I haven't flown in years and am a little nervous. Do you remember that song by Alanis Morrisette called, "Ironic" about things that happen too late? I have a new, irrational fear I will find representation on Friday then my plane will fall out of the sky in a horrible, fiery ball of doom on Saturday. Or I'll get an offer via email at the same time my charred remains are being spatula'd up from a cornfield.

I bet you had no idea I was cynical, right? *insert sardonic smile*

So, you may have noticed the little 'Vonnegut' thing to the right. There's a site (in the title) where you paste a chapter of your MS and it analyzes your writing. I was quite chuffed to be compared to Vonnegut... until I systematically inserted individual blog posts and was compared to Dan Brown, J.D. Sallinger, Stephen King, Nabakov, then Stephen King again, then Dan Brown again. So, apparently I've a host of men living in my brain or I've got a previously undiagnosed personality disorder.

The Day Job

2010-07-11T10:32:00.000-05:00

I have mentioned on occasion a sad truth: I don't like my day job. Most people don't. I knew that going into the workforce. I've had a wide variety of jobs over the two decades I've been earning a paycheck. Motel cleaning, security guard, waitress... all of which weren't that bad, but I longed for a 'real job.' One that was a 'career.'

Sometimes I miss being a security guard. I didn't do much. I patrolled a 19 story building in downtown Denver, but mostly I did a lot of reading. There's no time for that at my current job. It would take pages to explain what I do, and if I said my job position, you would make assumptions about how easy it is thanks to media misreprenstation.

My company constantly tries to retitle my job to make it seem more... something. I don't know what the hell they're doing, actually. Every title does nothing to explain my job. In fact, it makes me think of things totally different than the title suggests.

The last three:

AGENT. That makes me feel like a spy. I feel like I should be combing over secret documents in search of damning evidence which will lead to the coup of a dictator. Or at least give away top secret technological advances which will be the turning point in the Great Vegetable War of 2015 (if we survive Armageddon 2012, that is).

REPRESENTATIVE. Seriously? Me? I can barely represent myself, much less be someone a major corporation wants speaking on their behalf. I'm not sure they thought this one through. I'm not saying they're stupid ~~yes I am~~, but considering me a representative of... just about anything would be -at best- ill-advised. Unless we're talking about chocolate. That I'd rep on the barter system in a heartbeat.

ADVOCATE. This one is the most strange to me. I feel like I'm supposed to have a hand-made sign and be singing a catchy protest jingle in front of the White House. Or maybe even be a lobbyist in D.C. Or out saving puppies. Or seals. Or sea kittens. (seriously, GOOGLE the last one)

What about you guys? What do you do for a living? Are you like me and dream of making enough money to quit said 'day job' and maybe go back to full-time easy, low paying job with authorly royalties to supplement the difference?

You know what we need? A writing commune. A big farmhouse in the middle of nowhere (that has internet, of course) and we can all have low paying jobs that support ONE mortgage/utilities/food bills. Who's with me? We'd play Scrabble, of course, because we're all wordsmiths, and have our own rooms where no one cares if we showered this week because they can't smell us through closed doors... um... too much? Oh, look! A chicken!

Anyway, I think it'd be grand.

Drum Roll Please and Maybe a Bit of Saxaphone for a Jazzy Touch

2010-07-05T21:15:00.000-05:00

This was seriously agonizing, you guys. I've spent all day reading and re-reading (and procrastinating by napping to escape the awful truth of needing to make a decision) your entries. Although they were all so awesome, I did have to narrow it down to five because I'd made RULES. Gah, I hate rules.

Those that I chose were based on my own personal preference, and are in no way reflective of lack of skill in those not chosen. Wow, I totally sound like an agent in a rejection letter with that line. And, for the record, I totally get why they say that. Choosing is HARD. Thank God for the bribes sent my way or I'd never have figured it out. *joke*

So, without further ado, here they are:

1st Place to Tammy Narayan for her short story about a woman, her smelly infant, and their strange disappearance.

2nd Place to Lynn Simpson for her short 'The Kidnapping" about a nutty woman and her fondness for cats and violence.

3rd Place to Nicole Ducleroir for her short "Arms Wide Open" about an abusive jerk and his blind wife.

4th Place to Roland Yeomans for "The Bear With 2 Shadows" which is about Hibbs and the Turquoise Woman and her teaching him about his path.

Honorable Mention to Justine Dell for "The Hunt" which totally reminded me of Indiana Jones, only far more gullible. I really want to know what happens next!

Okay, guys. If you followed the rules, you are followers so I shouldn't NEED to notify you, right? RIGHT? Of course. Now, e-mail me with your names and your preferences for gift card/internet coupon/whathaveyou. Congrats to you all.

Don't forget ALL CONTESTANTS, I offered to critique a query letter or first chapter of your WIPs, so send those along for me to take a looky-loo. Please send them in the body of the email and not as a file. It's a lot easier for me to edit that way and I'll get it done faster.

It's Friday Again. Funny How That Happens Every Seven Days

2010-07-02T07:34:00.000-05:00

So, 36 years ago I was born in a hospital in Arlington, Texas. To all you youngins out there, birthdays become a lot less fantastic as you get older. I've said for a while now that I don't even think a birthday is giving credit in the right place. I pretty much had nothing to with being born. Today I even feel the urge to send my parents a thank you card. "Thanks for having sex, guys. 'Preciate ya!"

If nothing else, at least in my case, my birthday has become an anniversary of another kind. For a long while it has been more of a "Yay, I made it this many years and managed to not die in a horrible, fiery crash or succumb to illness!" The latter is especially true after the last year I've had (the former I feel most often when being a passenger in the car while child/friend/relative drives. Seriously bad drivers).

Plus, the older you get, the less your employer cares. I have to go to work today instead of sit around and think thankful thoughts of my dad's potent sperm and my mom's obliging egg. Do you ever consider what if YOUR egg had been ovulated out and some other egg got the brass ring instead? Okay, maybe it's just me.

On a different note, my new MS has had some interest. A couple of agents have asked to read it. I'm too nervous to be excited. They might pass on it, but at least it is catching people's eyes.

I hope everyone has a fun and safe holiday weekend!

Zombie Cupcakes and Awards

2010-06-28T20:34:00.000-05:00

So, I was ~~dragged kicking and screaming~~ invited to participate in an experiment over the weekend. The outcome is on Mia Hayson's (also My Literary Jam and Toast) new blog Will Blog 4Brainz. The link is here:

http://miaandalsothezombies.blogspot.com/2010/06/zombie-baking-aka-christi-is-force-fed.html

Pity me.

I've also received a couple of awards recently, so decided to stop hoarding and go ahead and ~~spread the love~~ post them.

The Versatile Blogger Award

The first is The Versatile Blogger given by:

Lisa Green at Paranormal Point of View http://paranormalpointofview.blogspot.com/
and
Kelly Dexter at Nerdsville Rhapsody http://nerdvillerhapsody.blogspot.com/

The rules are thus:

There are steps required for the Versatile Blogger Award:

1) Thank and link back to giver.

Thanks, guys!

2) List seven things about myself:

1) I'm a lot more boring than I seem.
2) My first car was a VW Bug.
3) I hate socks.
4) I cut my own hair.
5) I have less organs than I was born with.
6) Black is my favorite absence of color.
7) I breathe. Most days.

3) Pass the award on to 15 other bloggers you've discovered and think are fantastic.

Seriously? 15 people, pages, links? The next award wants the same thing, so I'm combining instead of posting 30 people's names.

4) Let the bloggers know about their award.

The other award is the Lovely Blog Award

Given by Tessa Conte at Tessa's Blurb http://tessasblurb.blogspot.com/

Rules are thus:

1. Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link.

2. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered.

3. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

Okay, fifteen people:

I seriously just spent half an hour trying to find someone I know that doesn't already have these. I had a list only three people long before I deleted and wrote this lame paragraph instead. I get points for trying, dangit. Short attention span, guys. Seriously short... what was I saying? Oh, right. Zombies. They're at Mia's new place. Funny ones.

***And another lame reminder of my 106 Followers Contest which ends this Sunday.

When Inspiration Strikes

2010-06-25T07:44:00.000-05:00

I'm going to share something with you that may or may not come as a big surprise to those who know my cat is named Snape. I started writing five years ago, and my inspiration was someone whose name I'll never know. Let me explain.

I was hopping around the internet as I was wont to do with my evenings after work and I had the notion 'Hm. I wonder when book six is due out...' So, like any good fan of Potterverse, I hopped over to mugglenet.com to find out. I browsed around some articles, and in the side bar was the line 'a great fan fiction story you should check out.' So, I did.

They weren't lying. It was pretty good. Not great, nothing to make me email everyone I knew, but pretty good.

But it wasn't done. At the site, they updated a chapter at a time and hadn't updated in over a year. This was disappointing. I wanted to know how it ended. Then, I swear, I have NO idea where this randomness came from, but I said to myself 'well, I guess I'll write one and give it my own ending.'

Up until that point, I was a poet. A bad one. I had written little things since I was a wee lass, but never tried to do anything more than five pages long. But something CLICKED in my head. I can't explain it. I started my story and wrote 52,000 words in six weeks. I didn't know how fan fiction websites worked at the time, so I posted the whole dang thing at once. Seven people read it.

At the time, I was all 'wooHOO!!! Seven people read my story and loved it!!!' *Cloud nine euphoria.*

I started a new one, and posted a chapter at a time this time. It became a beast. It was this epic tale of woe and heartbreak that capped at 250,000 before I said to myself, 'self, it's time you tried to write your OWN characters, don't you think?' I probably wouldn't have had the thought if not for my reviewers constantly saying 'why are you writing fanfic? you need to be writing stuff that you can sell.' I was all 'sell? no one would PAY for this tripe.'

Then I decided, 'hey, wth, why not?' So I started the story that became Lesser Evils.

I'm explaining this because I had a rather shocking moment yesterday morning. I saw an author had gotten a bookdeal on her three-part series, and the story line was remarkably similar to my fanfic. At first, I was pissed. I'll admit it. I won't say anything that will give away any of the plot or ANYTHING, because the truth is: it might be coincidence. People say there are no NEW ideas, just rehashes of old ideas, but that's not entirely true. Sometimes there ARE new ideas and when we read them or see them in a movie, it blows our mind. Remember the first time you saw The Sixth Sense?

Not that I'm saying my work is on the same calibre of that, but that's my point. My idea was a little out there, like me. So my first reaction was 'OMG, you hack! You totally stole my idea!!' But I calmed down pretty quick.

The truth is, even if they did read my story and drew inspiration from it, that's actually a good thing. It meant I inspired someone to write, just as someone else had inspired me once upon a time. Even if this person goes on to be a bazillionaire with their trilogy, that's cool. I would not be where I am today if not for the fanfic I posted. I would still be watching television every night or... yeah, I don't know what else I used to do before I wrote. I don't regret posting my work online. I needed the feedback and encouragement and I got it from other writers.

Which is why I'm not afraid to post my little shorts I share with you. Maybe they'll inspire you, maybe they'll just make you laugh. Either way, I did a good job, and that's all I ever wanted. I want to do a good job. Only, yanno, not where I work. I hate that place. :-)

Beauty is in the eye of the guy with the glasses or something like that...

2010-06-22T17:16:00.000-05:00

Do you like it? I call it "I Wish I Was Beautiful"

I made it a while back. Every once in a while when the writing doesn't happen, I create stuff in my artsy program. This is my favorite one, and I think it's because it is the most personal to me. On the surface, yes... I wish I was beautiful. But it's more than that. This butterfly is beautiful in his (yeah, it's a him) own way, but he's so wrapped up in being like the others, he fails to see his own worth.

Don't we do that as writers? We see other people's writing and think, 'whoa, I suck compared to that.' Come on. Don't lie. You know you do it.

Well, I'm here to say: KNOCK IT OFF.

We're all gifted. No, that's not the 'everyone is special in their own way' falsity that parents tell their kids when they suck at sports. I mean that we, as writers, are gifted. We're also nuts, but I digress. We write, and that alone sets us apart from those who don't. We each have a different level of skill, but also a different level of imagination. The only thing that will EVER limit us is ourselves. Write that masterpiece. It's in you. All you have to do is type a lot, edit a bunch, fill in the plot holes, rewrite a scene or two, add a character, change the ending, and kill those adverbs and TADA!!! Success. Now get back to work and stop your bitching. You're beautiful.

And don't forget my contest! Deadline is July 4th (this year, for you procrastinators out there who need clarification).

'Tis Friday

2010-06-18T07:43:00.000-05:00

I don't have a lot to say lately, as some may have noticed. I'm working on my WIP a lot, and my life is pretty monotonous otherwise. I get up, read blogs, go to work, come home, read blogs, write if I can, then go to bed early. There's rarely any variation to this.

While my mind is on my story, I'm very focused and often tune out all other things. I'm obsessive compulsive so will do one thing until I absolutely HATE it, then find something new to obsess over. This is greatly affected by my short attention span.

So, the only thing I can share regarding writing today is a short little thing that popped into my head. It's a writer's re-write to the opening of Poe's The Raven. Enjoy.

Once upon a midnight query, I did edit 'week' and 'dearie'
Over many a bland sentence until my eyes were sore.
While I plodded, nearly slapping, my forehead for the plot gapping,
As someone twittered they'd be napping, napping at ten 'til four
''Tis unheard if,' I muttered, 'napping at ten 'til four -
The butt in chair, 'tis what writing's for.'

Ridiculously short, yes? Blame my attention span.

It's Friday, so on Twitter I see #FollowFriday for pointing out good followers. On Wednesday they do #WriterWednesday for fellow writers. I'm tempted to do #MoronMonday, but I do not know certain coworker's Twitter names.

Everyone have a great weekend!

PS My contest is still open until July 4th. I hope to get some more entries, of course :-)

Awards Time!

2010-06-13T12:21:00.000-05:00

I've received a couple of awards and I'd like to pass them out today. The first one was from John Paul over at Where Sky Meets Ground. It is the Journey Support Award.

It's hard for me to single out specific people for awards because you've all been so fantastic with your comments and support. You help me continue writing, even when I feel like giving up some days, or at least give up sharing my work with others. Without each and every one of you who visit and communicate something back to me, I would feel as though I was making this journey alone.

The second award comes from Anne at Piedmont Writer. This one comes with the following rules:

1) You can only bestow this honor on one fellow writer at a time.

2) You can only pass it on to someone who has shown signs of recent struggle.

3) You do not have to have received it to pass it on.

4) When you pass it on, you must provide a word or two of encouragement to the receiver.

5) As awesome as this award is, you can't write a post with the intention or hope of getting this award. I mean, we struggle, yes, but we aren't needy.

6) When you receive this award, you have to state one positive thing about your writing ability. After all, the best kind of encouragement is the kind that comes from within ourselves.

My recipient is Roland D. Yeomans at Writing in the Crosshairs

For those of you who follow my blog, you may realize how important both these awards are to me just by the mere fact I'm using HTML LINK CODING ZOMG ME HATES IT.

To appease rule 4 (and because I want to say it): To Roland,

Chin up, chest out. The heart is just as worthy an organ to think with as the brain.

To appease rule 6: I'm not half bad at dialogue.

----------------------

Now, regarding my 106 Followers Contest

I've not had as many entries as I would have liked, which is understandable considering the summer season and possibly short notice. I see on other blogs where more time is given than what I gave, so I thought I might extend it until July 4th. I greatly appreciate my new followers, and welcome aboard! It's great to have you here.

A few things...

2010-06-09T07:55:00.000-05:00

First and foremost, I want to speak of how sometimes life just sucks. Last night, Alyssa Smith's house burned down and she has nothing. She's an editor for Sterling Books. A website has been started in which donations are accepted to assist. We did it for Nashville. We can do it for someone in the biz, too. I suck at linkage, so here it is:

http://rosefox.livejournal.com/1614322.html?format=light

In fact, I'd be awesome if they did another auction of agents' assistance. I'm sure thousands would be raised.

Secondly, and on a lighter note, I gave ~~forced~~ my daughter my first 10 chapters of my WIP for her input on the YA-ness of it. She left me a note on my desk that I got when I got home from work. It reads:

Started Around: 7:50 - 8:07

Finished: 1:01 pm

...I loves it...

LOL! In your face!!

That's exactly what it said. It made me giggle, so I thought I'd share.

Also, don't forget about my contest, folks!

The link is thus:

http://christigoddard.blogspot.com/2010/05/106-followers-contest.html

Everyone have a great Wednesday!

Digging out the oldies...

2010-06-05T16:36:00.000-05:00

Happy Saturday, folks. I've managed about 1,000 words of my WIP, which is way under my goal, but the day's not over yet so maybe I'll get to my goal before the day is out.

During one of many episodes of procrastination, I found a scene I'd written well over a year ago. It's funny how far my writing has come in just one year. So, bearing my amateurocity (new word), I've attached it to the end of this post. You will find adverbs galore, I promise. It's also much longer than what I usually post, so no worries if it daunts.

I hope everyone's having a good weekend. Here in Texas it is HOT, and if not for A/C I'd be curled up in a ball somewhere weeping. I hate heat. I lived in Colorado too many years, for one. I used to have an old Ford with no A/C and that was just miserable down here. The heat distracts me when I'm writing. I don't have good airflow so I periodically go to the cooler side of the house. I should just move my computer there.

Another reminder about my contest. No pressure, of course, but the more the merrier.

-------------------------------------------

Though he probably ran this colloquialism into the ground the last few months, Gus couldn’t help but thoroughly feel his life now really sucked. Not just a little, not ‘we need to cut corners’ sucked, not ‘you’re grounded’ sucked, not even ‘we’re moving’ sucked. No, this was a pure and overwhelming sort of suck that left a person in need of a bigger but no less accurate word to define it. As such, this whole new level easily qualified as Sucktacular.

Maybe it would have been better had his family been the sort to be able to vocalize their pain when Mom had left them forever, but his family just didn’t work that way. Dad was… well. Sarah was just too little to really understand or comprehend what they had lost. Mary was no longer a conversation partner at all, and Jesse spent far too much time holed up in his room now that they were back from school. He rather suspected his brother had been in Sarah’s bed far more than his own at night, however, which was good for him, maybe, but it still left Gus with no one to help him release the anguish which seemed to be building by the day, by the hour.

He and his eldest brother, Jake… just didn’t work that way. Besides, Jake was busy trying to be their pseudo parent and past history told Gus a Jake with a frayed thread was not a Jake he should strike up a heart-to-heart talk with. Or any sort of conversation, really. In fact, he avoided him as much as possible just to keep the eerily quiet house from erupting in cross words or the echo of slammed doors that would distress the others. Gus did try to be considerate, after all. Sometimes.

This summer was especially stifling, or maybe it just felt that way. His last term at school had been unusually difficult after they had buried Mom. Gus no longer had Jake there as his ‘just in case’ touchstone, Mary had not returned to finish the year, Jesse was withdrawn and had done poorly in his classes, and somehow football just didn’t mean a damn thing to him anymore and he had surrendered his position. In fact, Gus lost interest in just about everything, and he had been in the principal’s office more times that term than the total of the previous three years due to the alternative ways he had found to pass the time. He was no longer the same boy he had been. He didn’t care for fun, didn’t search out entertainment. If nothing else, he was impulsive, more so now than ever. His decisions were quick and rarely thought through to the end.

Decisions like this one. Really, Gus didn’t see the harm. He had been swimming these waters the whole of his life and it was one of the few things he engaged in that never resulted in an injury. In fact, as far as pastimes went, this one was pretty tame. Without a word to anyone he wandered out to the beach, eager to cool his body and maybe just relax his mind a bit in the salty waves. It wasn’t long, however, before swimming alone got downright boring. With a quick glance to the cliffs it took only half a moment to consider diving off the cliffs might be a spot of fun in an otherwise dismal existence.

He swam to shore and strode up the beach, then climbed up to the top of the cliff, then stood there dripping and looking out over the edge. Well… as long as he aimed it right, he would easily avoid the rocks, he supposed. True, Gus’d never swam beneath the cliffs before, but if it got too much, he’d just swim back to the beach, no worries.

Mindful not to take his deep breath until he actually neared the water, Gus merely jumped, angling himself to where he would effortlessly avoid the rocks, a small smile gracing his face in satisfaction as he inhaled deeply before plunging beneath the water’s surface.

Glancing up towards the sunlight as his velocity slowed, he was trying to determine just how deep he had gone when he came to an abrupt and very painful stop. His attention swiftly dropped to his chest, then his eyes went wide with horror as he realized he had gotten himself rather impaled on a small (and decidedly sharp) crag of coral.

Planting both hands on the reef, Gus tried to pull himself off of it, but what he got for his trouble was the end of it snapping off, having lodged at an angle and apparently snagged inside him behind his rib.

Fuckcockshitbollocksassballs.

Yeah, that about summed it up.

Breaking the surface with a gasp, Gus rolled onto his back and futilely pressed his skin to the branch of calcium protruding out of his… lung. Godsdammit, yes, his fucking lung. That would explain the difficulty in breathing.

Suddenly thrown down by a powerful wave, Gus found himself doing an underwater summersault before scrambling for the surface again, horrified to discover he was further from shore. The beach now looked miles away to his panicked mind.

Well, staring at it wasn’t going to get it any closer. With great effort and greater pain, Gus began to swim towards his home, praying someone would be looking out a window and see him since he seriously doubted he’d be able to trek up to the house once his sorry ass washed up on the beach.

He was not aiming for the shore itself, but more the waves so they could carry him in and save him some effort. Scared there were sharks nearby, he swam as fast as he could. Hopefully if they were drawn at all, they would head to the waters beneath the cliffs which he was trying desperately to remove himself from.

Catching a break at last, he found himself being taken up in a large wave, doing his very best to angle himself so he could body surf his way towards the shore and he managed it for the most part. Once his feet were able to touch the bottom, he stumbled out of the water in a hunch, clutching futilely at his chest in instinct to paw at the source of pain.

“Jake!” he called as best he could, but his lung capacity was cut in half and he was gurgling up blood and water from the punctured one, coughing it out in a pink spray on the sand. Falling to his knees he tried again, this time in a scared sob, “Jake!” as he fell onto his side, slowly rolling over onto his back. Oh, fuck. This was bad. Really, really bad.

His little brother, Jesse, arrived from out of nowhere, it seemed, and he sank to his knees beside Gus, terrified eyes taking in the coral that protruded from his slender chest.

“Gus?” Jesse asked worriedly, turning his head towards his older brother to get his eye, his heart dropping into his stomach when Gus gave him a small smile with eyes that were far too glossy and lips stained red with the trickles of blood which flowed at each corner.

“I’ll get Jake. Don’t die. Oh, please Gus, don’t die,” Jesse begged, tears streaming down his face, then turned and ran back towards the house to fetch their eldest brother.

Gus had so much he’d wanted to say to his little brother when he found him, but he just didn’t have it in him to speak. In fact, he barely had it in him to do anything. Much against Jesse’s wishes, he was quite sure he was dying. He wasn’t particularly happy about it, certainly wasn’t ready for it, but at the same time he knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

As his brother disappeared from view, Gus was certain he had just seen his brother for the last time. With the last ounce of strength he had, he rolled back to his side and shakily scribbled in the sand.

He was still on his side when his brothers returned, his gaze quick to look up to Jake, eyes wide with a terror which was firmly taking hold of him. But in a heartbeat it was gone, washing away with the last breath he expelled as his body rolled again to its back.

Written in the wet sand, a message was scrawled with crude penmanship. Gus had taken a moment to decide what the most important words would ever be that he could say to his brothers. Impish to the last, he decided to leave the world with a joke in his heart to keep the coral in his lung company. Near his head were the unmistakable words, Mom liked me best.

Feeling Funk-tabulous

2010-06-02T20:17:00.000-05:00

I've noticed a trend on the bloggosphere and around about. The funks are setting in. At first I thought it was just me and I felt bad for being such a bad blogging friend, but I'm starting to notice a trend. I think many of us have hit a spot in our lives/writing/blogging/working/whatever where we're just kinda blah.

I fought it over the weekend and got a few thousand words done on my WIP, but I'm not really happy with it. My CPs have no complaints, but it's missing something to me. Maybe it's part of my funk. Maybe even if it was better than Austen (nope) I'd still think it sucked.

I'm at 55 rejections and 16 no replies. Not a single partial. I think I only had one personal rejection. It's this and other things that are going on in my life that make me question my worth. If I'm even any good. I wonder if I'm an idiot. A dreamer. Nuts.

Okay, I know I'm nuts. Let's leave that one alone for now.

I want to keep going on and on about all the things in my life that are going wrong, but that'd just be a pity party and I hate that. I'm just venting, I guess.

So, this is me checking in on Wednesday. I know my posts are inconsistent, but I blog when the mood strikes. You people with schedules boggle my mind. I'm never good at keeping a schedule or having plans. My plans always fall apart, so I quit bothering.

Side note: Don't forget about my contest. If you don't have time, that's cool. I'm using it also as a way to get myself in gear. I want to finish my WIP by the contest deadline so I can devote all my time to the contestants.

I hope everyone's summer is not as hot as mine has been lately. The electric company is going to LOVE me. I can't wait to see the bill.

Anyone else feeling funk-tabulous? Maybe we're a hive psyche. One starts to feel down and it spreads across the blog hive.

106 Followers Contest

2010-05-30T10:03:00.000-05:00

Why 106? Because that's the number of followers I have today.

The Rules:

I hate rules. Therefore, mine are simple.

1. Blog about it. Why? Advertising rocks. Anything extra you'd like to do is appreciated mucho.

2. Be a follower. Why? It's the polite thing to do.

3. Short story, roughly 500 words. Why roughly? Because I won't disqualify for over or under, so long as it's a complete story. I'd enjoy it if it's 1000. I'd be disappointed if it's 100. It can be any genre. I'd prefer funny or incredibly tragic. I'm like that.

4. Email it to christigoddard@gmail.com because I want to consider them privately, not as posts. If you want to post on your blog, that's cool, but still email me.

5. The deadline is June 15th. Why? Because it's an anniversary of sorts for me so an easy day for me to remember. ***This has been changed to July 4th!

The prizes, you ask? Capitalism rears its head. This is also simple. It's up to you.

1st Prize: $40.00
2nd Prize: $30.00
3rd Prize: $20.00
4th Prize: $10.00
Honorable Mention: $6.00.

Why? Because it's the 106 followers contest, so I'm giving out $106.00. I'm not foolish enough to send cash in the mail, so these will be in the form of gift certificates to anything you choose. Bookstores, Amazon, Target, Wal-Mart, Taco Bell, I don't care, so long as it's a chain store I can find in Texas or one with a website I can order from.

Also, all contestants will have my undying devotion. I will prove this in a meager offer of editorial assistance. Have a query letter? A partial? Some sort of vague idea and lack direction? All contestants will receive honest feedback, if they wish. I'm no professional, and it won't hurt my feelings if you're not interested. Just bear in mind that I might not be timely if I have dozens to go through, but I will get through them all.

So, good luck, blogger friends of mine. I look forward to reading your work!

*****Whoops on the math. I fixed it.

I'm easily distracted

2010-05-26T18:47:00.000-05:00

Which is why I've not been around much. Real life things have been calling me and have left me with small time to be around. It doesn't help that my wireless keeps crashing since I'm the sort to curse and storm off rather than fix it, plus I did have that time away in Colorado which totally pulled my head out of writing for a while. It gave me a lot to think about.

Much to my amazement, I seem to have tipped over 100 followers. My sidebar doesn't show the number (unless I highlight the area) and I can't get the color to change when messing with the display options, so I gave up trying to fix it. See paragraph one, sentence three. My point is, I didn't even notice I was close to 100.

So, it makes me wonder if I should have some sort of contest or blogfest. You guys tell me. What's your pleasure? I'll tell you up front that a contest of mine would be about talent and not popularity. It'll have nothing to do with Facebook or Twitter point racking. It will be a contest to showcase your writing, as would a blogfest, so pick your poison.

In the meantime, another one of my shorts. Let me know if you can picture this guy in your head, even without a description. I can, but I wrote it.

-----------------------------------------------------

The drop down list of my friends at the top of the page tells me you were online two hours ago. The comment I left you is from six hours ago, but you said nothing to me in return. I see the little picture that is what you’ve chosen to represent yourself in cyberspace. It is down on my list of recent visitors, but you said nothing to me.

I left you a note. The box turned from yellow to grey, so I know that you read it yesterday between noon and one o’clock. I kept checking because I could not wait to read what you would say in response. Yet, you said nothing to me.

I went to his page. I see you’re talking to him again. Why do I even care? You’re the idiot who smiles as he brushes your hair back from your face, knowing the words that fall from his pretty lips are lies.

I shouldn’t have told you my account name. I was safe from the world before, hiding in cyberspace where I could speak to people who understood me and did not call me names or kick my dog or throw my book bag in the ditch. I was safer with the freaks than I am with you normal people. Now you’ve told them all my name and they come to my page and mock me there, too. I had to change my account name again. I’m so tired of doing that.

Not to mention money down the drain from another subscription that bit the dust. I was almost at a thousand pageviews, too, you bitch.

I think this time I will pretend to be a girl from another country and cannot speak English well. It is so fun to intentionally massacre the language, to warp the words as they are thrown at me by others to warp me.

I mean, it’s not my fault I am the way I am. It’s everyone else’s. Every jock that pushed me, every teacher who mocked me in class, every girl that laughed at me when I tried to flirt, every relative who wouldn’t sit next to me at Thanksgiving… you are all the reason I need acceptance, but will probably hide in my one room efficiency apartment every night after I am back from working at my menial job in my fluorescent lit cubicle.

On the internet, I am a god. How can reality possibly compete?

Blogfest... a bit late

2010-05-19T08:47:00.000-05:00

Wow, I'm really, really sorry I worried you folks. I've been in Colorado and just got back last night. I returned to find emails and notes of being missed. I'll admit, it does make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside that people notice when I'm not visiting*stalking*their blogs or posting on mine. I've got A LOT of catching up to do on blogs.

I thought I'd be back sooner than I was so I had signed up for Roni's blogfest http://fictiongroupie.blogspot.com/2010/04/lets-talk-blogfest.html

It's a bit late, but here ya go. This is a scene before the one I posted for the Last Line Blogfest a couple of weeks ago. To set the scene a bit, Sam has been riding with a very religious truck driver and is at a truck stop in Limon, CO. He is back from the grave and in a radically different body with special powers he is still learning about and headed west because he has vague dreams that tell him to go where there's mountains. This is the scene where Sam and Scarlett meet. The reason they 'recognize' each other is because they are both unnaturally pale with long white hair and red eyes and their clothes are the same, except different colors (in case that part confuses anyone).

Rated PM for Potty Mouth:

The windows to my left piqued my curiosity once more, and I paused to browse pewter dragons and authentic Native American dream catchers made in China. Beyond the shelves I could see customers, and when my eyes fell on one in particular, my heart nearly leapt from my chest like an alien spawn on crack.

She looked down at a display of scorpions under glass. Her pale hair was separated into two tightly done braids that rested on her chest. She wore an ensemble of red, and chose to roll up the sleeves of her red poncho to near her elbow. Her eye shadow and lipstick were bright red against her pale skin.

Like a trod upon mouse, my nose squeaked against the glass I'd pressed up against, and her head snapped up in surprise. When our eyes met, I saw her irises were as red as mine. Lined thickly in that black junk girls wore, her eyes went wide when they focused on me. I wasn't sure if it was alarm or joy as she gaped at me.

Granted, I was pressed against the glass as unapologetically as any kid at a shark aquarium. At least the kind of kid that likes sharks a lot. Ones scared of sharks wouldn't have looked as eager as I no doubt did.

The spell was broken when she turned away and ran towards the door. Not sure if she was running away from me or towards me, I stepped back from the glass to wait and see which direction she headed when she got into the long corridor. I was mildly relieved when she approached me. It would have been embarrassing to have to chase her down in the parking lot.

She spoke first. A lot.

"You're like me, right? You look it. Dead, too?" She leaned in close and sniffed. "You look it, and kind of smell like it, too. What are you driving? You're driving, yeah? Going where I am, I bet. You have the dreams? Of course you do, or you wouldn't be here. Brown, huh? I got red, obviously. Thank God. I'd look horrid in brown. Not that you do. Well, you don't look fabulous or anything, but not bad."

"Did you actually…I dunno… want me to give answers here?"

"Huh? Oh, um, sure. I guess. I mean, I already figured it out for myself, except what you're driving."

"I'm not." I was curious how she was able to drive, but she already annoyed me and I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to her anymore. The only thing that kept my feet planted was the fact we were obviously connected somehow, and it was more linear than the Kevin Bacon Factor.

"You're what, then? Hitchhiking? That's dangerous, you know."

"Yeah, well lately I sort of feel invulnerable."

She smiled in a way that made me very uncomfortable. In a flash, she twirled a butterfly knife in her hand then stabbed me in the chest.

"Ow!" I hissed, turning towards the wall to yank it out before someone came along and saw. "You trying to kill… okay. I'll stop there, but OW! What the hell did you do that for? You tore my clothes."

She rolled her eyes, her hand open and expectant of her knife's return. "If you're going to be such an infant, you can stab me back if you like."

I was tempted. Won't lie.

I slapped the open blade into her palm and said, "I'm not being an infant. I just think your flare for the dramatic is out of place in broad daylight where anyone can see us."

"Scarlett."

"O'Hara."

"No, Scarlett's my name, dipshit."

"You're being pretty antagonistic to someone you just met, don't you think?"

"No different than I treat anyone. You're not so special I'll change my ways."

"I don't think you're… stable. Have a nice death." I walked away from her. Actually, I think I scurried like a rat away from her, but I don't want to split hairs.

To be honest, I was incredibly disappointed. She was the first person I'd met that was like me, and she was a lunatic. Normal people didn't go around stabbing others for fun. Seriously, it was random and illogical. Not to mention the fact it hurt like hell.

"Wait!"

I really didn't want to, but I stopped.

"I'm… I'll try to be less… whatever," she said to my back.

"Whatever?" I said, turning around to face her. "Less stabby? Less insulting? I'd prefer both, to be honest. If it's too much to ask, piss off."

"Well, wherever we're going, I've got a car and you don't," she countered. "Want a lift?"

Decisions, decisions… ride with holy-roller, truck-driving stutterer from Deliverance, or with Tank Girl on amphetamines. It was an easier choice than I'd anticipated.

"I guess. Just don't stab me anymore. I don't have any other clothes."

"Cool, come on."

I looked around for Bill and wondered if I should tell him where I'd gone off to. I didn't want him to worry about me. I didn't see him, and I felt bad for disappearing on him, but I was sure the girl was a piece of the puzzle to my new life and didn't want her to leave without me.

Okay, I sort of did. I was conflicted. She was crazy.

Scarlett approached a car, and I prayed she was just pausing to mock it. Unfortunately, she unlocked it and got in. It was a white, two-door Pinto station wagon at least two decades older than I used to be. If that wasn't enough to rate a negative score on the Cool-O-Meter, it was also adorned in stickers from bumper to bumper along the bottom and sported purple flames on the hood.

"Whoever you stole this from probably thanks you," I said as I slid into the passenger's seat. The backseat was missing, leaving a large cargo area.

"Don't insult Martha. She's sensitive."

I snorted. "Martha? You're shitting me."

"My brother named her. She was his for years. Gave her to me when I got my license. Gave her back to me when I zombied. He's got Gerda now. She's a Gremlin, his favorite."

I made a mental note that Scarlett's entire family was unbalanced.

"I was lucky to get her," Scarlett said. "Hitchhiking is dangerous. You're brave for doing it. There's a lot of nuts out there."

She would know.

"No, bravery is travelling cross-country in this thing," I said. "Cross-street is even a risk."

"Get out and walk, if you like."

"Nah, I gotta be there when I'm right. I get the opportunity so rarely, you know."

"So, what's your name?"

"Sam."

"We're introduced now," she said as she held out her hand to shake.

I took it in mine politely, then the freakiest thing yet happened. I saw Scarlett for who she really was. Her hair was black and cut in a short bob, but other than that she was about the same, only shorter. Her complexion was pale, and her dark makeup was in place around her eyes, but her eye shadow was a rich purple. Her eyes went wide, and I knew she saw me, too.

"So, you're a short, dark dork and not really an ivory god, huh?" she said.

"I could say the same about you."

"If you wanted to walk."

"Which I don't."

"Then shut up."

More from The Project

2010-05-06T21:52:00.000-05:00

Those that have been watching me for a while know that I post little 'shorts,' things that can't even be called flash fiction because they're not even a page long. I have a collection of these that I've written over time for what I call The Project. I doubt anything will ever come of it. I feel the need to say again, these are not ME. These are characters. I hope you enjoy.

-------------------

The dishwasher sings its song of labor and the cadence isn’t in rhythm to the notes that escape my speakers. Yet, somehow it is a lullaby in the background to the angry sound of someone else’s pain, and together they bring me comfort. Or at least as much comfort as anything can anymore. The gods know my bed brings me none.

I’ve walked to the freezer at least three score today, but walk back to my desk empty-handed. I randomly stick my head in there and rest it against the cold surface, hoping that there will be jolt to my brain that will end this fog that muddles me. So far, it’s a no go.

The cardboard lined contents within are less satisfying than the cigarette that hangs from my mouth, and I can’t get myself to sacrifice one for the other.

Besides, the smoldering stick has fewer calories and zero trans fat and I’m
watching my girlish figure these days, even though watching it doesn’t make it shrink. With any luck, cancer will consume my folds of cellulite and I’ll be a lighter carry to the grave. I wouldn’t want anyone to strain themselves on my account, after all. Especially since my pallbearers will be strangers and my grave not as shallow as I’d prefer.

-----------------------------------------

My leg shakes in the nervous fidget that pissed my mom off when I was a kid, but even after all these years, I can’t abandon the need to keep the leg moving. It’s a representation of my racing thoughts and my body’s desire to get started on one of the zillion projects that stampede through my frenzied mind in a blink. Doctors try to call it Attention Deficit Disorder, but that’s because they’re two-dimensional in thought and depth. They don’t understand that I just see so much more than they do, and my poor human brain can’t keep up.

Just another limitation of this flesh. Something I’ve grown accustomed to, but still resent.

Who is God? He is who I blame when everything goes wrong, that entity that conspires against me and makes this world a dark and terrible place just so I have a harder day. Sometimes, I worry that I’m too self-involved. God is the one that is never there for me when I need him. God punishes me whether I am good or bad. God is who I beg to make the pain stop.

Oh, wait. That’s you. Are you my God?

Funny. I thought you’d be taller.

But your inability to apologize is no surprise. With each word you throw at me like a dagger, you pin me to the wall in my mind. Careful now, it’s crumbling around the edges of the holes your words leave behind when they are yanked back out with a kindness that drips with falsity. Could have, would have, should have, can’t.

This is what I think when I hear you say you love me.

--------------------------------------------

Time stops when the page is empty
and sounds are mere echoes in my eyes
faces and places, all long forgotten
and happily so, until that song plays

Yellow bunnies and pink chickens
poisonous plants used for decoration
orange squash savaged and set alight
each a holiday memory long buried

And even now I hear cheerful tunes
ones that make me want to rip off my ears
times best held at a distance in my mind
lest I stab the next perky chum in the head

Or maybe just that bitch at the office
I’ve been wanting an excuse, after all.

Tagged, too

2010-05-04T19:34:00.000-05:00

I see a lot of my blogging friends getting tagged with this, and I got tagged by Terry Towery at http://awriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/
I'm not going to pass it on since I don't want to make someone do it more than once, so if you'd like to this lil questionnaire, by all means, share info about you! I love reading about everyone else.

Question 1: Where were you five years ago?

1. Well, it was May of 2005, so I was newly recharging my writing batteries with two stories I had begun in April of that year.

2. Spending every weekend at Scarborough Renfaire (which I spelled wrong and am too lazy to look up), at which time I sat both days of the weekend at a picnic table in FULL Ren gear with a pack of pencils and a writing tablet from the faire's open to close, working on my stories and ignoring my family (parents and sisters).

3. Driving a rickety truck I was too afraid to wash because the dirt held it together. It had no A/C and a vinyl bench seat. IN TEXAS.

4. Working at the job I still have, but I liked it then.

5. Living in a small town 40 miles from Waco.

Question 2: Where would you like to be in five years?

1. In a house of my own. Renting blows.

2. Working on another best seller... (yanno, after I've had a couple already)

3. Living moderately with a sense of security.

4. Behind the wheel of a '57 Mustang.

5. Above ground is something I'd settle on at this point.

Question 3: What is on your to-do list today?

1. Breathe.

2. Eat.

3. Go to work.

4. Write some more.

5. Go to bed.

Question 4: What snacks do you enjoy?

1. Chex Mix.

2. Chex Mix.

3. Animal crackers (mostly their heads).

4. Chocolate.

5. Chex Mix.

Question 5: What five things would you do if you were a billionaire?

1. I'm sure I'd still write.

2. Create a financially stress-free life for all friends and family.

3. Buy a new body.

4. Travel a lot. To places I can reach in a car. I have an illogical fear of dying in a plane the moment I win the lottery, so no more flying for me. Then again, a plane would probably just crash into my new house.

5. Self publish if I wasn't already. I'd probably just buy a publishing house for all my friends to use. :-)

Last Line Blogfest

2010-05-01T09:53:00.000-05:00

For Lilah's Last Line Blogfest http://lilahpierce.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-first-blogfest.html,
I submit the last several *coughdozencough* lines of chapter 4 of my WIP.

To set the scene a bit so you know WTF is going on, My MC Sam and Scarlett are both returned from the grave. They've already discovered their bodies reform themselves if damage is done to them. They've just met this day and are still strangers, and are also seventeen. They are being 'called' west, but they don't know where to. They are in her crappy white Pinto station wagon in Denver at the moment, after having travelled across Kansas. They are leaving Denny's at the moment, trying to decide where to head from there.

Oh, and he thinks she's a lunatic.

------------------------------------------------

I left the waitress a buck-fifty, which was over twenty-percent of our seven dollar meal. Quite generous, I thought. As we walked back to the car, I glanced at the nearby interstate and the cars speeding down it. In them were people who knew where they were going. I envied them.

A thunderous sound startled me, and I snapped around in search of its source. Scarlett, too, searched the darkness from her side of the car.

"What the hell was that?" she said.

"Fuck if I know."

We looked around a moment longer, then it resounded again so loudly I covered my ears. Other patrons of the restaurant passed us by with curious eyes, unfazed by the resonating echo in the night. It seemed they were either deaf or had not heard it because only Scarlett and I could. When it struck a third time, a flash of light accompanied it from the sky, turning night into day. My lifted eyes saw dancing circles of color against the clouds.

"A sign?" Scarlett asked across the hood of the car.

"I guess. Words spelled out would be a lot more helpful, though."

"Text message of the gods?" Her tone was amused.

"Hey, divinity shouldn't have limitations."

The lights stopped dancing. I almost apologized to the sky for my disrespect. Maybe the divine disliked being mocked as much as any human.

"Way to go. You pissed them off," Scarlett said. "Say you're sorry."

"You're not serious," I said. True, I'd the impulse to retract my statement, but I wasn't actually going to speak to floating colors above my head.

"Yes, I am. Do it, or don't get back in the car."

"Fine."

"Like you mean it, too. Not one of those fake forced apologies your mom makes you give your brother."

I didn't have a brother, or a sister for that matter. I knew that wasn't the point, though, so I looked up at the lights and said, "Sorry if I pissed you off."

"Sam!"

Scolded by the crazy chick. My afterdeath had reached an all new low point.

"I'm sorry if my remark was offensive to you in any way," I said to the luminescent colors, feeling like a world class jackass.

The lights circled again, then drifted away slowly, heading south.

"Get in!" Scarlett said, throwing open her door. "They're going to show us the way!"

That was a pretty wild assumption, I thought, but I did as I was told. For all we knew, the lights were going to lead us off a cliff. Or to a used car dealership.

Scarlett peeled out of the parking lot and sped down the street. I wasn't sure her Pinto could take that kind of abuse, but negative remarks about her car while she was excitedly speeding down the street seemed a bad idea. It was harder to keep my mouth shut when we nearly caught air going over train tracks.

"Dead or not, you need to obey the rules of the road before you send other people to the grave," I said, gripping the door handle in anxiety.

"You know what?"

A rhetorical question I loathed. I almost answered sardonically, but kept it to myself.

"Shut up," she said. "I'm not going to kill anyone. You don't count. You're already dead."

"Well, I'd prefer not to be dismembered again, thanks."

She shot me a confused glance, then her eyes returned to the road.

"Watch out for the...!"

"I see it."

The Pinto narrowly missed someone edging their Mustang out from a gas station parking lot. They honked loudly and the driver gave us the finger.

"Being with you is almost more excitement than I can handle," I said.

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

My Blogging Friends

2010-04-30T08:29:00.000-05:00

I love you all, you know. I love getting up in the morning and reading what everyone is up to. I'm a crappy commenter often, I'll admit. Sometimes I can't think of a single thing to say. I'm not terribly clever 24/7. In fact, my clever is sort of like seizures and comes in flashes. Sometimes, and I'll be honest here, what you say on your blogs, dear friends, is so incredibly insightful and deep, I got nothing. I just stare at your page, then read it again. Then I give you a psychic pat on the shoulder and move on. I try to follow everyone who follows me, but sometimes I can't find you. Your little icon has no link back and I'm incredibly stupid at working this blogging thing.

One of my dearest blogging friends, Anne, gave me an award today. She's at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com/ Pardon the lack of linkage, but I'm fairly certain those that follow me have already found this most awesome woman so don't need a clicky anyway. She's given me the 'A is for Awesome Award' which is pretty alliterate. I give this to...

Sarah a.k.a. Falen at http://falenformulatesfiction.blogspot.com/
She's an awesome and funny lady. She's also got a pretty funny and insightful dog.

Charity at http://charitywrites.blogspot.com/
She's been with me from the beginning, when I started out at Bransford's forums what seems ages ago, and still she's with me. I appreciate you, chickadee.

Mel at http://caledonialass.blogspot.com/
Again, I'll remind people I'm a sucky commenter, but Mel is not. She's always got something awesome to say to me, and she always makes me smile.

Shannon at http://shannonkodonnell.blogspot.com/
As many, many people know, Shannon is the bomb. She's got a zillion followers, but still reads me and almost always comments to let me know her thoughts.

Last, but definitely not least, I give this to Tahereh at: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/
Her post today is here: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/2010/04/probable-possibility.html
If you've not already read it, go read it now. NOW. I love that she is always so crazily upbeat and funny, but today's post made me cry. LITERALLY CRY MY EYES OUT (okay, not literally. They're still there), and I'll tell you why: She stole these words from my heart.

"i'd squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the heat in the back of my throat and clench my jaw and hold my breath and finally exhale as i read the email only to blink back the rejection burning through my body, shaming me, embarrassing me, diminishing me into silence.

it takes less than 10 seconds to realize you've been rejected."

I disagree. It takes me about 0.75 seconds. I see 'thank you' and I already know it's a rejection. I imagine a request for more pages to not start out with that platitude. I've never seen one, but I imagine it has my name and starts with something like "I've read this and wish to see more..." or "I'm happy to..." I don't know why, but I expect the letter to start with the agent speaking about themselves first and start with the word "I" or some variation.

"everyday you hear about people getting huge book deals, triple-book deals, massive book deals. everyday someone has a new story. someone is a break-out success. someone popped up out of nowhere and knew the right person at the right time and hit it big.

sometimes it hurts to hear.

not because you're jealous, besties. you're not jealous. you're just worried.

you wonder if there's enough room for you, too."

This was so accurate. I worry about this all the time. There's so many of us, dear friends. So many talented people out there and only so many openings. It truly is like trying to apply for your dream job and each query letter is your application. You send it out into the world and pray you meet whatever qualifications they are looking for. It's frustrating, yes, but heartbreaking. I want to be one of the people with a story. I want to be able to say, "If I did it, then you can, too."

But I can't. I'm still in the application stage. It's not about fame and fortune (it actually never was for me) but about accomplishing something I've set out to do. Even if I get published, I doubt anyone will know me or what I look like or where I live because being a writer isn't about being a celebrity. It's about being a storyteller. At least to me.

"maybe you think no one cares.
maybe you think your loved-ones are humoring you.
maybe you think they'll take you seriously if you land an agent.
maybe you wonder if you'll ever publish a book.
maybe you wonder if you're wasting your time?"

I appreciate Tahereh for writing this. I can see these words and feel the truth of them. I also know that I will continue to feel this way until I 'make it' because 'making it' is the only way to feel as though my hopes and dreams are not in vain. Every day I think about giving up. Every day I don't. Agent rejection is not personal. I know this. My logical brain knows this. My heart doesn't. My heart tells me they all think I'm an idiot hack who just wasted 2.4 minutes of their time.

Einstein is credited with saying that repetition of the same activity in which you expect a different result is a trait of lunacy. Are we just crazy then? Okay, yeah we are. We know this. We revel in it. So trudge on, fellow trudgers.

I Live... and found a soapbox upon which to climb

2010-04-28T20:08:00.001-05:00

So, I've been absent of late, I know. Over the weekend it was because I was busy with my WIP, in which I got a total of 6400 words added from Tuesday-Sunday. Monday after work through until about an hour ago, I was away from home. Had some more hospital business to take care of. Don't fret for me, I'm totally fine. Well, as fine as I have been lately. I took a laptop to try to keep up with everyone, but that didn't work out well. The stupid space bar was a demon sent from Hell to torture me. Plus there's something about hospitals that makes me tired. I slept a lot and watched The History Channel.

I've been fretting lately. I try not to let reality cloud my life, but sometimes I poke my head out of my internal goings on and look around. I'm not happy, friends. Not one bit. This blog was created for the purpose of meeting other writers, and so far I think I've blogged about writing and other writers. I don't discuss politics or the tragedies occuring around the world. I watch in horror with the rest of you, but keep my thoughts to myself.

Tonight, I'm going to say a few things that have nothing to do with writing. If you're reading this for pure entertainment value, I fear there's none to find tonight. This post will be about getting to know me. Not what I like or what I enjoy, but what I care about most, second to my family. My country, the United States of America, and to my eye there has been little 'United' about us for some time, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better.

To Nick's (and possibly Terry's) horror, I'm not 'into' politics. I'm not a Republican, Democrat, Independent, Libertarian, Montana Militite, Anarchist, Socialist, Communist, Fascist, or the like. Groups worry me. They always have. I understand the uses of government, and I've worked for a couple of them. I understand, and obey, the laws (speeding doesn't count. That's more of a guideline to me).

I am a patriot. If invaded, I would pick up arms and defend my country, my home, my family, my friends. I support our troops. My future son-in-law is in Iraq right now. I don't agree with the war, as a political tool. I agree with the war for what its purpose was to be: to find the bastards who killed so many Americans and tried to kill the rest of us through fear.

I remember September 11, 2001, don't you? Don't you remember where you were when you first heard the news? It was horrifying to think a plane could accidentally strike a Tower. Then the second plane struck, and we were a nation under attack. There was a mad scramble to find loved ones, to find other planes in the air. I was in St. Louis which was in an entirely different time zone, but military jets were in our skies for days, on patrol. Do you remember that feeling? It felt like everything would change, and it has. It has.

We have an Islamic president now. Not a single person would have thought that possible ten years ago, and certainly not after September 11th. I have no problem with his color or his faith. I have several friends who are of the same race and religion. I am only remarking on how strange it is that we, as a nation, as a group of people, joined together and looked past these things instead of condemn him. It is often in our nature to do that, to condemn those that are different than ourselves. I am happy, I truly am, that we did not do that. It shows great strides in our thinking, in our ability to rationalize on merit and strengths.

Here's what I do have a problem with: Healthcare Reform. Do we need it? Absolutely. Our system is broken. I know. I work for a health insurance company. Many people point there fingers at us and blame us for all that is going wrong with heathcare, but it's incredibly off the mark. I'm not a manager or higher-up. I have no influence whatsoever, and am not being a company loyalist. If you knew me at all, you'd know how I don't like big business. My dad calls me Flower Child half the time.

What I know is this: the average American cannot afford to be without coverage. Why? Because hospital and doctor claims are outrageously expensive. Often a patient goes untreated -turned away- if they don't have coverage. This is not the insurance companies' fault. Healthcare providers like to point their fingers at the big, bad insurance companies, but consider this: if they were less expensive, would we need insurance? They say they are expensive because of their malpractice insurance. This is NOT health insurance. This is an entirely separate issue covered by a different kind of insurance company. Doctors hike their rates to pay for their malpractice insurance rates, insurance that exists to compensate a patient when the doctor has made a medical mistake and endangered (or ended) their lives.

So, the healthcare providers make mistakes, which their insurance carrier pays for, then increases their rate to get some of it back, and the doctor turns around and charges the future patients. The bottom line is, you (and I) are paying for our healthcare providers' mistakes. That doesn't make them evil. Healthcare is a business. Shoplifting at Wal-Mart yields the same results. Customers pay for losses, not companies, not businesses. There IS something incredibly wrong with the healthcare system, I totally agree. But, like publishing, I defy anyone to find a better way to do it that doesn't cost hundreds of thousands of jobs.

Which leads me to my next soapbox moment. Unemployment. We're not recovered from the recession. We're barely holding our own. To dissolve insurance companies would put hundreds of thousands of people out of work. But it doesn't end there. $12 billion cut from our education system?? Seriously??? 100,000-300,000 teachers are getting pink-slipped in June. They've also put a dissolution of NASA into the works. There's tens of thousands more jobs in the toilet. So, healthcare, education, and space exploration (not to mentional all the techological advances we've NASA to thank, and so many more we'll never have). This one is also close to home to me. Robert Goddard was a great man, a rocket scientist, a pioneer, a relative.

Another couple of things to mull over: a bill has been sent for approval to give police the right to use lethal force during peaceful demonstrations if they feel they are in danger. They can fire into a crowd of unnarmed civilians if one trigger-happy nervous rookie so chooses. I love the police. I really do. Again, it's in the relations. But bad things happen when this sort of thing is allowed, and it goes against our Constitutional right to peacefully protest. Also in the works is for every American to have 'papers' in addition to a driver's license, to have a passport whether we want or need one or not.

Think about all of these things: socialized healthcare, dropped importance on education and research, increase on military, the loss of peaceful protesting, the mandate to have freedom of movement restricted without proper papers. I feel like the toad that sat in the pot too long to notice it has begun to boil.

If you made it all the way to the bottom, thank you for hearing me out. I'm a frustrated American. I'm not anyone special. My opinion is mine, and I love that I live in a country where I can share it without fear of persecution. I'm just afraid it's slipping away. There's something going incredibly wrong with our country. Can't you feel it? Are you afraid like me? Or are you clicking 'unfollow' now because you think I'm a whiny ignorant woman who is a Big Bad Insurance Tool? Can any of you make some sense out of it all, allay my fears?

Twitter

2010-04-23T23:24:00.000-05:00

Okay, I broke down and did it. I'm now a Twit. Or Tweetmeister. Twittliscious?

I don't get on so well with technology, so have been trying to figure this little program out. My first discovery? If I make lame comments to movie stars, people can see that on my page. Whoops. Re: the John Cusack remark about fame - I only half mean that. I don't want fame, just backstage passes.

But I've gone total fangirl and follow actors I've adored for years now. I know they'll probably never speak to me (and probably even have that block thing from fans bombarding them), but I get to do a shrill squeal on occasion like a twelve year old. Or younger. Possibly like a little boy who has been unexpectedly kicked in the nads. Yeah, that's the sound I make. I'm sure this new toy will lose its brilliance in a day or two.

Anyhoo, put a button on the right to click if anyone's interested. I've tried to go through pages and follow y'all but either I'm blind or just ignorant. I can't find the buttons half the time.

I already have a tweetly friend! HI, LISA!

Updates

2010-04-22T19:21:00.001-05:00

I suppose I don't do this a lot, so I decided to talk about my quest for publication today. I've got loads of pretty numbers for you number people out there. I'm not one of them really. I've learned to dislike numbers in conjunction with my writing. This might change when there's dollar signs with the numbers someday. IF.

IF I find an agent.
IF I get published.
IF Anyone buys it.
IF critics don't tear me down so much I need a rubber room. Well, more than I usually do.

In the meantime, my numbers are sad.

Queries sent: 62
Queries rejected: 40
Queries not replied to: 22
Queries not replied to that are probably 'no's: 17
Queries that got a partial request: 000.00
Queries that got a full request: 000,000.07 (I'd like to think at least one THOUGHT about it, so that warrants part of a percent)

Completed MSS: 1
word count: after chopping 35,000+.... 115,000 and still too long, apparently
Current WIPs: 1
word count: 30,500
I've added about 3600 words this week, so some success there.

Number of times I've given gmail the finger: 346,754,897,421

The last one is not a true stat.
I'm sure it's much higher.
In my defense, it's not often query related. It's just a nervous tick I have.

Number of times I wished I was Tiger Woods: 0
Number of times I wished I was Tahereh: Infinity+7
Number of pounds I've put on the last five months: let's not go there.
Number of pounds I'd like to lose: 638. This includes a relative and a couple coworkers.

Okay, I think that's all the pertinent information for now. Have a fab Friday and weekend if I don't see you.

To Wait, To Ramble

2010-04-19T22:10:00.000-05:00

I wrote this one about a year ago, and it's surprising how little has changed. I sometimes feel like my whole life is stuck in a state of waiting, though I don't know what for. It all feels temporary. Where I live, where I work, what I like, my friendships... nothing lasts. At least with me. Do you ever feel like you're always waiting for that next big thing that's going to happen to you? Good or bad, you just know... you just know it's coming. Things have been 'even' for a while so something's bound to come along and dash it all up again. Granted, I've not been 'even' for years.

Okay, mindless rambling online done. I'll go do it on my PC now...

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The cursor that mocks me, the blank page that screams how hungry it is and needs to be filled, the thoughts that run ajumble in my mind and beg so much to be free… and the only clear thought is that I have nothing to say. So many sounds in my house that weren’t there before, so many voices and needs and exclamations of wanting from me… I ramble on and on about how I can’t ramble, and the irony does not escape me.

I have embraced with cold arms the sensation of a life on hold. I keep breathing, keep doing my job and sleeping when necessary; I’m not yet sedentary, though I’m sure I’m just three steps from catatonic most days.

Waiting is what I do in my spare time, because there is nothing I can do to move things forward. I wait for a call when home, a visit to my desk when at work, but still the news I await does not come; the news that my life has changed forever. I can think of nothing else, and the wait consumes me. I suck at waiting.

Ask anyone who has ever stood in line with me at the grocery store.

Do you ever feel like people are watching you? Not because of how you dress or what you’re buying, but because they are all just playing some part in some social experiment to test the limits of human emotional endurance.

I asked this old lady today if her job had good benefits and if the new socialism of medical health was going to affect her coverage, but she just stared at me blankly. I advised her that watching my every move had to be an incredibly tedious job since I even bore myself, and that if I were her I would invest in a chocolate company.

That’s really the best bet as far as I’m concerned. Women need chocolate once a month and I doubt our cycles are in sync, so I doubt the bottom is falling out of the cocoa peddling market any time soon. She said she was past menopause and never ate chocolate anymore. Her evasiveness of the issue only confirms that she is one of Them.

Are you, too? Do you read my words to analyze how close I am to cracking? Well, grab a stopwatch, pal, ‘cause the end of my rope is in sight and there's no damned knot to hold onto.

Getting to Know You...

2010-04-16T10:09:00.000-05:00

Or me, in this case. I tend to babble on and on about things when talking about different facets of my life, so I decided it'd best be served for time constraints on readers hopping around on blogs to do it in PICTURES! They're worth a thousand words, right? So, I'm posting several thousand words today.

In no particular order of importance:

Aside from Pink Floyd, these are two of my most favorite bands. What can I say? I like my men confused, and boy do they look it.

Then there's the infamous cat, Snape.

My living room:

My workspace:

Evidence of my ultimate fangirliness (this is Severus Snape, for those unaware):

To top it off, a horrifying truth about motherhood.
P.S. The gobs of eye shadow are because it was Halloween.

Contest and stuffs

2010-04-14T19:13:00.000-05:00

I Wordled my compiled works that I've been posting. I sorta love this thing.

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First off, there is an awesome contest here: http://sarahwithachance.blogspot.com/2010/04/something-fun-and-celebratory.html#comment-form

(links hate me on blogger. Don't know why)

Sarah Wylie is celebrating being published. Go celebrate with her! It's very exciting.

Secondly, I got two chapters done over the weekend, as planned, but some things came up that prevented me from being around so far this week. My apologies to anyone who fretted.

Thirdly, I keep typing things out in this Post box, then deleting them. I hate to publicly pour my inner toxic into the world and bring people down, so let me just say I'm not having a good week and might be scarce. Sightings of me on blogger will be almost as unpredictable and rare as Sasquatch until I get my head on straight(er). I'm lurking around on pages at odd intervals and sleeping more than I should.

Here's a bit of fiction in the meantime.

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‘They’ are out to get you. No one knows who they are, but They exist and They mean business. We don’t know where They take you when They find you, or why it’s so important to be afraid, but we feel it in our bones it must be bad. People are right to be paranoid, I think. Not me, so I’m not. I’ve got nothing to worry about, but the rest… oh, yes. They are definitely coming for you people.

I tried to quit smoking today, but I started my period. I’m sure They are to blame for that, but I am still trying to piece together how. Perhaps it is in the water. Whenever They are up to something, They usually start there then move on to hiring aliens when all else fails. Aliens are a last resort, of course. Those little fuckers charge an arm and a leg, and all because they have bright lights and tractor beams.

Well, so did James Tiberius Kirk, but his services were free. He just impregnated the locals. Small price to pay, really, although I wouldn’t want an alien to do the same to me. It would come out looking like a Sally Jesse Raphael and Andy Warhol love child. Which is weird since I’m not entirely sure Andy didn’t fake his own death to become Sally.

But I digress.

We were discussing ‘They’ and how they are out to get you. And your dog. They don’t want your cat for many of the obvious (and not so obvious) reasons, but mostly because the cats are in on it with them. You know it, don’t you? The way their eyes follow you when you move about the room… surveying you constantly and gathering data to be held against you in a court of jaw. No, that is not a typo. You’ll understand better when They’ve taken a bite out of your ass.

I think They are the masterminds behind global warming. They try to blame hairspray and industrial factories, but the truth is… Earth has a temperature knob. I’m sure of it, and I think it’s somewhere in the mountains of Chile. My friends laugh at me and tell me I’m paranoid, but I’m not the one They are after, so I’m really not. I’m just prepared.

Like an adult Girl Scout. Only I ate all the cookies.

Award and Book Club

2010-04-10T05:35:00.000-05:00

Emily White is trying to start a book club at her blog at: http://steppingintofantasy.blogspot.com/

She's a sweet gal and fantasy lover, so has a sliver of my heart. She's having a contest that reads:

"Hmm...I was hoping for some more enthusiasm for the book club. I guess I may just have to add some extra incentive. All right, here goes. I understand that for writers such as ourselves, money is often tight and time is basically non-existent, so I'm prepared to hold a little contest. I will give you from today until next Wednesday (the 14th) to send over as many of your followers as possible to commit to reading The Secret Year and participating in the discussion. The person who has sent over the most people (at least 5) will win the book. I'll pay for it and have it shipped to you overnight. As far as time goes, well two weeks is a LONG time to read a book. I'm sure you can get it done in a few days. ;)

Have your followers respond in the comments section of the previous post (here) with your name. Again, they don't need to be followers of this blog to take part. They are certainly welcome to follow, but that is not a prerequisite. I'll announce the winner on Wednesday at 9:00pm (EST), so you have up until 8:00pm that day to get your followers over here."

Nicole at http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.com
gave me the Beautiful Blogger Award in which I say seven things about myself. This took an hour to think of. I think I've now covered everything slightly interesting about myself from this and previous awards.

1. At my job we are separated into teams with team shirts with our names of the front. My team chose to have camouflage -PINK (gag)- and I had the printer list my name as SPC Malfoy.

2. One of my daily chores is putting books back on their shelves. My cat, Snape, pulls books off my bottom shelf with his paws during the night. I've caught him in the act, yelled at him, and his response was to reach in with one paw and throw down another one. He doesn't want on the shelf. He just wants to throw my stuff on the floor. Sometimes I suspect he is the reincarnated soul of a disgruntled postal worker with their memories still in tact.

3. I have never voted. Not because I'm lazy (which I am) but because I've never been impressed by any candidate. I'm extremely cynical about the machinations of politics. I don't support any party. This goes back to my fear of people in groups I've mentioned before during an award meme.

4. About the only thing I drink anymore is sweet tea.

5. I've only had one year of a college education. I was on the Dean's List first semester then the President's List second semester (not for troublemaking I swear), but life got in the way and I had to drop out before second year.

6. When I was four, at Easter I found a dog. My mother said I could have it and should name it. I asked my aunt what she was drinking that made her act funny. She said, "Brandy." Thus, I had a samoyed named Brandy for twelve years.

7. I quote movies in an almost annoying (or maybe very annoying) way. I've a gift for remembering dialogue, and a great love of movies. Every room in my house has movie posters, except the bathrooms (humidity'd ruin them).

I'm taking a blogging hiatus for the weekend to try to get some work done on my WIP. Everyone have a great weekend!

Winter Man

2010-04-08T08:45:00.001-05:00

Yes, you're in the right place.

Unless you were looking for someone else. If that's the case, browse a second and see if I float your boat or not.

For those of you looking for Christi on purpose, here I am! As many of you read yesterday at Elana's blog, black blogs are harder to read. I had no idea. I work eight hours a day with four DOS based windows open, so I look at white on black all the time and have no problem. But I'd hate to think I'm making anyone's day harder, so I changed it for easier reading.

This is a quick post afore a run off for work, but I'd like to take a moment and thank everyone for the wonderful comments about yesterday's post. You all rock. That's all I can say.

Without further ado, a shortie called Winter Man:

The eyes that he wears are so open. He is as all are, it seems, but pretty words elude him. I know better than to trust him too much. It isn’t that he is deceptive or given to falsehood, but others have come before him and taught me well that life itself is an exercise is trickery. A clever dance we do as we evade the truth, or act as sleuths to uncover it. Why must we pick on truth? What has it ever done to us?

Or for us, for that matter.

He is the sound I hear when winter comes. No, the seasons stay the same for everyone else, but a single syllable from his mouth sends a blizzard through my veins, chilling me so completely that I swear I can see my exhale as a white puff in front of my face, billowing up into the heavens, where he says he will send me someday if I don’t start minding my mouth better. Should this honesty make me trust him more? He could just smile sweetly and tell me he loves me, but then the hammer to my skull would be such a shock.

I don’t like surprises.

I had a cat once that slept on my feet. It did not do it to keep my feet warm, but to prove to me that it could lay wherever it wanted to. He is much the same. I pet him sometimes and call him by my cat’s name, but he does not know why. He bites harder, though, and doesn’t fit as well in the gunny sack.

I’ve measured him.

Not for the Timid

2010-04-06T20:07:00.000-05:00

As some of you know, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. For some reason, I have no qualms about commenting elsewhere about this, but I'm not able to talk myself into posting on my own blog about my experiences.

What I will do, however, is offer up some fiction. I'll warn you now, it might be a bit too much for some people, so if you're at all squeamish about the evil that lurks within a person's soul and what they are capable of, go read... um... Samuel Park http://dailypepforwriters.blogspot.com/

He's WAY more upbeat than this post is going to be.

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His smile was a wicked crevice from which his tongue flicked out reptilian fast to wet his bottom lip hungrily. I shrank away from him, terrified and confused. I thought he was joking. He hadn’t acted that way before he had downed half a case of beer, and being the god of wrestling he was, he barely staggered. His breath stank as he pulled me against him, but I kicked him hard in the crotch and ran.

It probably would have hurt him more if it hadn’t been shriveled up by steroids.

The darkness of the wood grew and slithered around me, the crickets sang their mournful song, the cars sped by on the highway far below, but all I could hear were his thoughts as he chased me through the brush. Limbs pulled at my hair, branches grabbed at my coat, rocks jumped up like hares to trip up my feet.

As if I didn’t already have enough obstacles with my pudgy body and asthma? Perhaps if I’d had an attack, it’d have been so damned unsexy he’d have lost interest. I’ll need to remember that for the next time I’m a helpless, daft bitch in a ‘B’ movie with bad dialogue and questionable special effects.

Wet grass was the only scent in the air as I ran away. Not for my life or because I was strong or brave, but just so he couldn't have me. Senseless and futile, as his body had been sculpted by years of push ups, weight lifting, and fad diets, but in the end all I had was panic. He tripped me harshly, and I fell to the ground, sprawled out like a dirt angel in second-hand clothes. I tasted the wet earth thrown into my mouth, mixed with the blood from my bitten tongue, and it was like a last meal before dying.

So, please, Daddy, when you pull him out of your trunk in the desert tonight, do me a favor: Shoot him in both his heads.

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And what else? POETRY!

Quiet like a church mouse,
one that knows it sinned,
her bright eyes watch the shadow
as it creeps closer to her bed.

The startled cry of surrender
is muffled by a calloused hand
as supple flesh gives way.

She knows she can’t wake anyone,
can’t tell anyone.
It would stop,
then no one would be left to love her.

She feels dirty under the rhythm
of the hot breath in her face,
but she inhales her shame deeply,
with a smile.

He doesn’t love anyone else this much,
and no one loves her more than he does.
He said so.

Awards on Easter/Ostara and More Bad Poetry

2010-04-04T08:18:00.000-05:00

So, I've not really been hoarding these... I've been procrastinating. I've been in 'writer mode' for a couple of weeks with my new WIP and can barely get to all my bloggity blog blog friends, and keeping in touch with everyone is my priority, so awards wait until the weekend now.

Without further ado: The Prolific Blogger Award given to me by Nicole Ducleroir at http://nicoleducleroir.blogspot.com/

I was pretty stoked to get this one. Everytime I'd see it go up at a friend's page and not get it, I'd stick out the ol' pouty lip and wibble a bit. The artist in me loves the acid green and purple and thought it'd look beautimous on my black blog :-)

With that in mind, I'm giving it to a new friend and black blogger, Roland at http://rolandyeomans.blogspot.com/

And Lisa at http://paranormalpointofview.blogspot.com/
who also has a perdy black blog. Of course, there was more of a requirement than just having a black blog. Both of these people are pretty rockin' and you should go check them out.

Now we come to my new place for great fiction, Amy at http://shewritesherenow.blogspot.com/
Seriously good stuff, folks. Go check her out.

Tahereh at http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/
gave me the Sunshine Award, which I already had, so I added her name on my sidebar. I also did this with Wendy from http://quillfeather-blog.blogspot.com/
who gave me the 'From Me to You'
and Anne at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com/
who gave me the Honest Scrap Award.

Speaking of Anne, she ALSO gave me (because she loves me more than she loves any of you people) the Awesomesauce Award, which means that if I were to be put into a giant blender, the squishy and somewhat runny result would be Awesomesauce for your eating enjoyment. *DISCLAIMER - NOT YET LEGAL IN THE U.S.A.

Last, but certainly not least, Terry at http://awriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/
has returned to me my Soulmate Award. It's come full circle, and I've watched it wither and die on people's pages and passed on incorrectly and linked incorrectly or not at all... and I giggled. I don't mind at all. I just wanted to give some people a smile (which I think the award did) and as a social experiment, I think it went all right. No, I'm not going to tell you the results.

And now that the award ceremony is coming to a close, I think we should end it with poetry again. Happy Easter y'all! And Ostara for you special, special ones! (which I know was a couple weeks ago, but I procrastinate as I mentioned)

Wrote this a while back:

I never wanted love to find me
But the predator it is
Tracked me down
Knocked me down
Stole my breath away
Sunk its teeth into my heart
And continues to suck my soul dry

I do nothing to stop it
Maybe even welcome this small death

This cancerous love is killing me
It steals my sleep
My appetite
My reason
Brings me nothing but pain
You’ll be the death of me
And I don’t care
I think I should hate you a little bit

My strength is reserved for you alone
I give it out as freely
As I do my heart
I need neither without you
Free will relinquished with a smile
And a thousand tears

Stop calling
I have to answer

First Page Blogfest

2010-04-02T18:56:00.000-05:00

In Potterverse, I'm a Slytherin, hands down. I also used to RP more often than I drew breath, so I've got a zillion of these little beauties to thrust at you. In the meantime, I decided to partake of the First Page Blogfest, my very first participation in one. Mostly because it required no effort on my part. I already had this stuff written, after all. ;-)

Blogfest is here: http://kellylyman.blogspot.com/2010/03/in-beginning.html

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And here's my first 24 lines:

My life did not begin until I experienced death, and the irony does not escape me.

Travis Makowski was my name before I died. Now I’m just Sam. No reason, really. I didn’t name myself after a movie star or my favorite pet from childhood. It’s a simple, average name, one that’s easy to remember. Sometimes I still turn my head when I hear someone say my old first name, but for the most part I remember my new name.

Not hatched from an egg or conjured from a cauldron, I had parents before I died. Like a lot of kids, I had more than two. I suppose they are out there still, continuing on as they always did; watching television, shopping at the local super store, trudging through the menial and unrewarding jobs they bitched about so much at dinner.

I never blamed them for not wanting more than they had. Sure, they wanted to win the lottery and retire, but they never tried to see past the next horizon. They were good people, but boring and small-minded, and I knew I’d never want to be like them. I wanted to get out of school and get the hell out of Iowa as soon as possible.

Wish granted, I guess.

I wanted more out of life than a crappy job, more than to just get by and have enough for beer and the occasional visit to the Shrine of the Next Pop Culture Movement, a.k.a. the Cineplex of Doom.

Okay, I added the ‘of Doom’ part. I just can’t shake the feeling those flashing neon lights are the eulogy for independent thought disguised as entertainment. Then again, most of my ideas have no bearing in reality.

Except my idea of death. I’m pretty sure I’m dead.

I was never sure if someone listened when I prayed. To avoid talking to myself like a crazy person, I usually avoided prayer, but gazed upwards on occasion and gave an apologetic smile just in case.

Tahereh's Contest

2010-04-01T19:18:00.000-05:00

I'm fulfilling the requirements of the contest and blogging about it. So there.

Actually, it's a fun contest for those of you who can rhyme efficiently. I cannot. I wrote several pages of prose in two days. It took four days to write six stanzas. Crappy stanzas at that. I've written (maybe) less than five rhyming poems in the last fifteen years. I just don't do it. It feels forced from me. "OMG, something HAS to rhyme with evangelist!" Yeah, I don't roll that way.

BUT, I tried. That's all that matters, right?

Go check out Tahereh's contest at: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/2010/03/contest-that-cracked-earth-in-two.html

I WON A CONTEST!!!111!!!!!1!!1!!! (feels so obnoxious and doesn't care)

2010-03-31T18:25:00.000-05:00

I wanted to post about this as soon as I found out, but I had to leave for work. I just got home, and I know many of you already follow Sarah at Falen Formulates Fiction http://falenformulatesfiction.blogspot.com/

...and already know BUT those of you who don't... I WON A WRITING CONTEST!!!1!!1! It's amazing. I never win anything. Even my Cracker Jack boxes are empty of prizes.

Here's my entry. Be sure and go to Sarah's page to read the other entries if you're not already following her.

We were to choose between six prompts:

•After 3 weeks, a lost dog returns home to its master carrying an unidentifiable bone in its mouth

•After waking from a coma, a woman discovers she can smell fear

•When a crackpot inventor is killed by one of his contraptions his brother - also an inventor - finds himself compelled to finish the work

•A man discovers a large sum of money in his wallet and can't remember where it came from

•Use the quote "I pray every day that it will stop, but it keeps getting worse."

•After a violent thunderstorm a man discovers a rain-soaked diary among the debris in his yard

.....and because I'm ME and can never decide on anything (it's torture for others to watch me choose a candy bar at the gas station) I was inspired to test myself and incorporate all of the prompts. My idecision has been labelled genius.

I'll take it.

****************************************************
Untitled Because I Was Too Daft To Remember to Title It

The first crack of thunder of a Texas storm is a sure sign to unplug everything promptly. Lightning around here seems to aim for electrical poles instead of lonely trees in fields. One of Murphy's laws, whoever he is. I'm pretty sure he should be impeached or something, though. I hate his rules.

The storm that blew in at dusk raged until dawn, and when I left for work I found my dog had run off. Never a brave soul, I named him Spike to give him some confidence. So far it hadn't worked out so well. I called his name for several minutes, then gave up.

Next to my car's tire was a soaked book I'd never seen before. Curious, but running late, I tossed it onto the floorboard to scope out at a later time.

I'd no sooner closed my car door and started the engine when a rapid tapping on my window startled me. I rolled down the window and gave my neighbor a vague smile. He always unsettled me with his nervous fidgets and darting eyes. It did not help that he was gaunt with long black hair that always hung in his face, obscuring his features.

"Quoth the raven," I said with a smile.

"What?"

"A gentle tapping at my… nevermind." The man never understood my humor. "What d'you need, Ray?"

He arched a brow at me, seemingly annoyed. Perhaps he knew I thought explaining a joke would be futile in his case. "Did you see anything…odd last night?"

"I don’t watch American Idol."

Ray frowned deeply at me, so I tried again. "No, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Why? Your dog run off, too?"

He didn't own a dog. I knew this, but it was my way of letting him know Spike'd gone missing and he should keep a lookout.

"Not yet," he replied, which I thought was odd. Perhaps he was trying to be as funny as me. He shouldn't do that. It's like trying to fly a plane after watching the pilot. Only not as dangerous.

He glanced down the street nervously, then scurried off without another word. Chocking it up to him just being the local crazy inventor, I rolled up my window and proceeded down my driveway.

As I checked to make sure the coast was clear to enter the street, I saw Ray at his truck with rope, tying something down in the bed. Curious to a fault, I pulled up at the curb and rolled down my passenger window.

"What's that thing?" It was a metal box with knobs and switches. It almost looked like a giant toaster that'd been steam punked.

"Nothing. Something my brother made."

Right. The dead one. I didn't want to bring up touchy subjects.

"Oh. Well, good luck with it." It was a lame dismissal, but I had to get to work.

I pulled into the nearest coffee drive thru and ordered a hot java, but when I whipped out my wallet to pay for it, all I had was one hundred dollar bills. These paper items did not belong in my wallet. In fact, it was at least three month's wages. I knew I'd had nothing to do with them materializing in my wallet. I paid for the coffee with my debit card.

I wanted to go home and back to bed. It was a strange day already, and I'd not gotten to work yet. When I got to the office, I took the wet book inside with me. I put it under my office fan to dry it out some.

"I pray every day that it will stop, but it keeps getting worse," said my boss behind me.

"I know I'm late again, but my dog ran off," I said. "I'll get better, promise."
She gave me a disbelieving look and walked away.

I peeled open the damp book to discover it was a diary.

Ever since I woke, I smell the fear of others. I wish I'd just slept until I died. I'm so tired of feeling like a freak…

Entry after entry was like that. A woman had developed the olfactory abilities of a canine upon waking from a coma. Weird. Or she was crazy.

Three weeks passed, and I'd given up on Spike. When he did come home, he had a long, strange bone in his mouth. I decided his name had given him confidence after all. I renamed him Spike the Buffy Slayer.

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Tahereh's also got a contest at: http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/2010/03/contest-that-cracked-earth-in-two.html which rocks my socks and jams my brain. I can't rhyme for shit.

So Sayeth Moonrat

2010-03-30T19:35:00.000-05:00

To enter the contest, I gotta repost the blog. If you've already seen it on her blog, just ignore me. If not, head to her blog! Join the contest!

http://editorialass.blogspot.com/2010/03/half-million-and-counting.html

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Ed Ass got its 500,000th hit today. This makes me feel old and venerable.

Naturally, I wanted to celebrate. I mean, with you guys, since you made it happen. But how?! No one has yet invented a giant internet pie.

Jamie Harrington, clever thing, had the idea that I have a giveaway contest, the prize being a first 20 pages crit. So that's what it is! I'll give away one crit of a book's first 20 pages (size 12 font, double spaced, .5 margins for you sneaky sneakies out there).

You'll be automatically entered to win if you do any or all of the following things:

1) repost this on your blog

OR

2) retweet my Twitter announcement

OR

3) link to this post on Facebook (make sure you include @Moonrat in the post so I'm notified of it)

I'll close the contest at 11 pm EST tomorrow (March 31). The Rally Monkey will randomly select one winner without my input (as if I could make him listen to me, anyway).

Yay! I'm really excited now.

EDIT: Okay, it's driving me crazy. I know I saw someone give Soulmates Award to Tahereh and I can't find the post again. I'm going nuts. Anyone remember who did that? She said she doesn't think she got it.

Followers Celebration

2010-03-28T21:32:00.000-05:00

So, I'm doing the total cop-out with the contest idea. I've got too much going on right now (death in the family) and my heart's not in it. But I can't just let this momentous numerical magic go unnoticed, so I made some little signs you are free to partake of and put in sidebars... or completely ignore. I was going to make an 'award' but I'm still reeling from the last one that was half-success/half-failure. This time, these are simply a gift from me to you: my awesome peeps. Take one. Take all five. Take none. Up to you.

-------------------------------------------

My first impulse was to show my enormous love for my followers, so I made this one:

but that seemed a bit boastful.

I decided to go with something far more believable:

but I worried it might set a precedent. I can't afford a thousand followers, after all.

This led me to think I should try something more subtle:

Truer words were never written. You're a writer, and that's incredibly sexy. Boy, girl, hey... I'm not picky.

After looking at these three beauties, I thought to myself, "Well, self, you sure are making this all about YOU, aren't you?" So, I decided to try something more universal among all writers:

To write is to be insane, yes? No? Oh... um. Just ignore this one then.

Although I'm still slapping my own knee at how terribly clever I am, I thought the above might not ring as true to the rest of you as it does me, so I tried a more simple approach. IN BRILLIANT COLOR!!! *AH MY EYES!!!* I forbid anyone to sue me if they get eye strain:

I know I just posted, but...

2010-03-27T10:55:00.000-05:00

Holy crap! I have 58 followers! How did that happen? This is an auspicious occasion because I started my blog 58 days ago and got my 58th follower on my 58th day so I want to do something special. Not a lot of fame for the number 58 is there? Now, if I'd gotten my 69th follower on my 69th day... well, we won't ponder what kind of contest I'd inevitably contrive. It'd be DIRTY. Like... okay, my page is unrated, so I won't go into details, even hypothetical ones.

I've gotten a couple awards and will post those in the next couple of days (in case you gifters are wondering what the hold up is or if I'm ignoring them or hoarding them).

Progress report: I finished chapter 2 of my new WIP. It's a satirical fantasy... sorta. Query interest for Lesser Evils: 0. Rejections: 35. Outstanding: 23.

TO MY NEW FOLLOWERS: I post little short stories, about a page long. They are on the side bar under Interpretive Rants if you ever ...yanno... get bored and want something to read.

So back to the point... something special for 58/58. Any ideas? Contest? Group hug? Cyberpimping?

The Prognosis Isn't Good

2010-03-26T20:07:00.000-05:00

This one I wrote last summer when I was pretty sure I was about to die. Clearly, I lived. At the time, however, I was making lists of my belongings and deciding who would inherit what, e.g. Dad gets the giant Pink Floyd poster, Mom gets the DVD collection, eldest child gets the Koontz books, youngest child my stuffed animal collection...you see my point. Luckily, I've lived long enough to finish my manuscript. Go me! I'm rather glad I lived. I love my DVDs.

-------------

A click on brilliant blue words is followed by the last, and another collection of letters fills up my screen. Each sentence causes already scared eyes to go wider, and I’m certain Death has come to take me home. It doesn’t ride a pale horse or even pedal in on a pale trike. It creeps in slowly like paranoid cells of doom that slither betwixt binary code and absolutes.

So sayeth the website that lets me enter my symptoms into convenient little boxes.

Who needs doctors, right? I’m sure the guy who wrote this has a medical degree or they’d not be allowed to maintain a site full of medical information. The Internet is a highly regulated entity, after all, and there’s rules. I mean, Jojo the dog-faced boy has a site and he can’t have it unless he is dog-faced. The world has to make sense. There is order in the chaos, and it manifests itself via the electronic impulses that fuel my shiny-box-o-information-highway.

I’ve read the signs in the most literal sense, deciding the stars cannot predict my digestive habits nor my body’s ability to defend itself against cell destruction, and instead read actual words. These words tell me the light at the end of the tunnel is hanging on the wall of an x-ray room, and within its rays glow ominous areas of darkness that mock me with a hazy but discernable smiley face.

Except there’s more than two eyes and the smile looks more like a Charlie Brown stripe. Or sort of like a crushed bottle of mini- M&Ms, and all the candies are scattered around in my body instead of nice and safe in my stomach, floating in acid and Diet Dr Pepper.

Although, now that I look at it, it’s possible the darkness is shaped like the Virgin Islands, which is incredibly ironic on many levels when I think about its location. I’ll leave that open to interpretation.

Ode to Wojtek

2010-03-24T20:44:00.001-05:00

Today's post is a long time coming. Some of you have mentioned my banners at the top and bottom and wondered about them. My dearest friend in the whole wide world took pictures of himself to portray my MC in the manuscript I'm querying currently. He's in Poland. We met years ago through DeviantArt.com and about eight months ago I wrote this little short about him and posted it on dA.

His page is linked on my sidebar under Wojciech Zwolinski on the sidebar. He did the covers for Melissa de la Cruz's vampire series, the Polish translation. Please, go check out his work. He's amazing (and one of the most popular artists at dA *totally pimping*). He came to America last summer and spent three weeks with me. The above image is a picture I took of him at the Grand Canyon, as he's ALWAYS behind or in front of a camera. I think it was born attached, actually. Yes, I manip'd the crap out of it.

Here's "Ode to Wojtek" (his nickname)

-----------------

Again, I find myself watching the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Only it doesn’t make that sound since it’s digital, as most clocks are nowadays. Have we lost something as a society by not having the sound of impending doom echoing loudly in the dark as we sleep? The sound is just in my head, counting off the minutes until it’s okay to call.

I don’t remember what his face looked like the first time I saw him, I only remember the circumstances, which is odd. I normally remember the expression on someone’s face when they first meet me, but we still haven’t met so maybe that’s why I can’t recall. He entered my life through a photograph, years ago. Someone I don’t talk to anymore told me to look at him, so I did. I thought he was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I disliked him immediately.

We all do, don’t we? Hate the beautiful people just a little bit for being so lucky while we’re not? The internet being the imperfect medium it is, I also perceived arrogance, vanity, and a sense of superiority in him. This judgment was based on nothing but the photographs he posted and the comments he left. It’s enough, isn’t it? We all do the same. We decide a person is deep or shallow, friendly or hateful, cynical or optimistic, and all by interpreting their work and their words with our own voices.

I was dead wrong, and I’m ashamed of myself.

He is that breath of life I needed, the extra piece that was missing from the puzzle that is me. Through his eyes I see the world anew, and gods save me, I feel hope again in a way I haven’t in a long time. I can forgive him anything, overlook any fault without prejudice, and love him precisely as he is. He is my little brother from a littler mother, and though he is just as flawed as any of us and asserts he is no saint, I would still sacrifice a boatload of toddlers if it meant keeping him alive, giving the gift of him back to the world.

Mostly because I hate kids, so it wouldn’t be that hard. I’d hesitate at a boatload of dogs, though.

Sorry, sweetie. You’re just not that special.

Awards Time!

2010-03-23T21:06:00.000-05:00

Got this one from John Paul over at: http://skymeetsground.blogspot.com/
This one requires me to pass it on to some people who make me laugh regularly. Unfortunately, I cannot pass it on to Simon Pegg since he won't see it, so I chose these people:

Terry (I mean Satan's child) at http://awriterofwrongs.blogspot.com/
Penname Pauline at http://anallegedauthor.blogspot.com/
Tehereh at http://stiryourtea.blogspot.com/
Elizabeth at http://writerelizabethpoole.blogspot.com/
Emily at http://steppingintofantasy.blogspot.com/
Tiffany at http://tiffanyneal.blogspot.com/

From dear Anne at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com/ I received this award:

The rules didn't seem very specific, so I'm just going to hand it out, okay?

Wendy at http://quillfeather-blog.blogspot.com/
Postman at http://thejournal-postman.blogspot.com/
Shelley at http://storiesintheordinary.blogspot.com/
Stephanie at http://maybegenius.blogspot.com/
Roxy at http://roxyhaynie.blogspot.com/
Charity at http://charitywrites.blogspot.com/

Now for some poetry. You KNOW you've been DYING to hear some of my poetry.

You are the window through
which I look and see the future.
Never gave it much thought before
since being alive each day is a surprise.

Now, with procrastinated perception,
it occurs to me the window panes
are actually the bars of a prison,
and the view is marred by grime.

Ain’t no ‘mount o’Windex
gonna make this future look bright,
and I’m pretty sure you’d frown
if I accosted you with blue ammonia.

This house of cards is tumbling
into the hearth I built that blazed for you.
Each face on the faded cards smolder,
and I swear the queen of hearts screamed.

If I died, I would come back for you.
I’d be like ghostly Swayze who learned
to move objects with intangible fingertips
Just so I could kick in your teeth.

Twice. A day.
For the rest of your miserable life
until we’re together again in ether.
If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is.

Eight True Things

2010-03-22T13:33:00.001-05:00

Today's is a little different. There was a challenge at a different site I'm a member of that had you list 11 True Things. I'm posting Eight True Things. Three of my eleven I should never have put to paper. Yes, they had to bad for ME to question their good taste, right? So I deleted three of them. These are eight things I would say to certain friends/family if I had the guts to:
-------------------------------------------

You push and pull at me, take away all of my mirth and test how far you can drag my sanity across hot coals, then hug me and tell me how much you need me. Your love is cold and vapid, and I worry about the monster you are becoming.

All it takes is the simple act of defending myself from your hostility to turn you into a monsoon of ill fate, twisting my words and intent into something that is an attack on you. Does it make you feel better to think no one is on your side?

You took her side without really being at all informed or bothering to understand the situation better. I am trying to concede it is because you want more people to like you, and you were always such a lost little boy who just wanted to make friends and be accepted. But, think on this: pretending to be something you’re not will only bite you in the end. People who love the fake you will not like the real you, so whatever you have obtained will have no more substance than my failed dreams. My respect for you is gone. Was it worth it?

The pseudo friendship you offer me is something I’m thankful for. It gives me something to laugh about behind your back daily, and most days I could really use a good laugh. I’m fairly confident you’ll never know how I mock you. Your ears hear only compliments, your pride only allows adoration, and the shallow river that runs through your frigid heart ends in a waterfall that descends into the abyss of your empty soul.

The block I’ve been around a few hundred times doesn’t have that great of scenery, though some of the neighbors wave as I pass them by and it helps me feel not so alone. When I think of you and your behavior, I wonder about the block you have wandered countless times as well. I imagine the sidewalk is perfectly smooth, so when there is the slightest crack in it or obstacle in your path, such a deviation makes your mind explode into a burst of brilliantly glowing self pity particles that light up the world around you. Do you honestly believe your heart has been broken more than anyone else’s? You have twisted your supposed pain into something you pimp relentlessly for money, making your own heart your prostitute.

Though I express daily the depth of what I feel for you with two little words less than five letters long at the end of each conversation, I doubt you understand how truly sincere I am. Perhaps because I don’t elaborate. Nor will I now.

As always, you took that joke and rode it hard and put it away wet, then threw it on the ground and stomped it down until it was nothing but a bloody smear. You need to learn to love the joke or it just bites you back.

I didn’t let you win. I’m still standing, as whole as ever I was, and that must bug the crap out of you.

The Soulmate Award

2010-03-21T21:16:00.001-05:00

UPDATE!!! PLEASE COMMENT IF YOU RECEIVED THIS!!! I WANT TO KNOW WHERE THIS LITTLE GEM GOES IN BLOGOSPHERE.

Awards sometimes feel like popularity contests or chain mail, don't they? Don't get me wrong, I love getting them, but then I worry the people I send them to are all, "Oh, crap. Another frickin' award that I've got to pass out." That is why, dear friends who have sent me an award I already have, I don't repost it. I don't want to bother people with reading more boring facts about me.

So, I decided to do a little social experiment. As with anything, there is no obligation to comply. I won't sick the blogger police on you. I've created an award where you share fake facts about your followers. The experiment is twofold, as I want to see where it goes, so rule three is to ping back to this post and comment that you received the award.

This is by no means a popularity thing. It was hard to choose five people, but I still love everyone. But from reading the blogs of these followers, I think we share a common vibe of strangeness. That isn't a rule requirement for who they choose, of course. Maybe they choose five people that 'get' the mystery behind public shaving, for example.

The rules:
1. Choose five followers/commenters that 'get' you
2. Write something fake (preferably not too mean) about them
3. Link to them, and link back to this post to comment your receipt of the award

Anne at http://piedmontwriter.blogspot.com: Anne's ex-husband is a mob boss. Since the divorce, she has gone into the Witness Protection Program. Her real name is Millicent.

Nick at http://littlesliceofnothing.blogspot.com: Nick secretly enjoys Harlequin romance novels. He aspires to be the next Nora Roberts under the penname Ned Robertson.

Justine at http://justine-dell.blogspot.com: Justine won the lottery three years ago, but blew all her winnings on her collection of First Lady Barbies and Smurf memorabilia.

Lucy at http://yousayweird.blogspot.com: Lucy is currently writing a thriller about dog show contestants. They are genetically altered, and in the end turn on their masters for putting them in stupid clothes.

Mia at http://literaryjamandtoast.blogspot.com: Mia was a photographer for National Geographic, but her first love is making balloon animals. She was fired when her colorful hobby turned bad. The burst of her balloon shark startled a tribe of baboons into destroying all of her camera equipment, and they trashed the camp.

Peeping Tom

2010-03-19T20:25:00.000-05:00

I post these fairly frequently and I know some of you enjoy them, but would you rather I wrote more about things in real life or something? A lot of writers' blogs have publishing information, book reviews, and stuff like that. I'm not trying to copy or anything, I just want to keep my readers interested. I love you guys and would hate for you to wander off.

Here's one that might be a little hard to follow because of the accent.
-----------------------------------------------

The faucet drips once. Then again. Soon its solemn echo is the counter beat to my heart’s crazy rhythm while I sit curled up in my father’s ragged recliner. I’m afraid to move 'cause I saw your eyes at the window again, the whites of them reflectin’ the light from the fridge when Gramps went to grab a beer. I hope that I’m in the shadows enough that you don’t see me hidin’ in plain sight. It’s been a while since the windows’ve been cleaned, after all. At least since before Mama died.

Do you miss her like I do? She had a great smile, so long as she didn’t have a bit of snuff stickin’ out ‘tween her teeth.

I wonder why you come. You never talk to nobody, and you never let nobody see you but me. You’re scary. I don’t mean to come off as rude or nothin’, but you make the hairs stand up on my arm even when it ain’t cold out. I see you growlin’ at Daddy sometimes, but he ain’t never hurt nobody. I told him th’other day that you is the Boogey Man, but he smacked me on my behind and told me I had an imagination like Mama’s.

Did she see you, too? Maybe you’re the one that made her heart go kaput. Startled her plumb outta her mind, I bet. Like the time she caught Daddy nekkid in the goat pen.

Are you hungry or thirsty for something? You’re always licking at your sharp teeth when you look inside. I can’t tell if you have lips, but everything does, I think. Maybe that’s why you don’t talk, huh? Your mouth don’t work right. I’ve seen you smile, though, so I guess you got lips somewheres. I seen you smiling through the bathroom window when I’m showerin’ all alone. Daddy don’t come in now that I’m gettin’ my girly unmentionables, but you still try to. I wonder if you’ll ever figure out that window latch.

Or if you would have if Daddy’d have let you. Won’t be happenin’ now, though. I told Daddy all about you this mornin’ and he’s been waitin’ for you. You know it, don’t you? I see you lookin’ around and wonderin’ where those noises are comin’ from. That’d be Daddy, Uncle Jeb, about a zillion dogs, and pretty much the whole entire neighborhood watch.

Teach you to look in my windows, perv. Whatever that means, but the way Daddy said it makes me think it’s not a good thing. He said ain’t nobody gonna be touchin’ his little girl but him.

He sure does miss Mama.

BOOM

2010-03-18T16:33:00.000-05:00

So, enough about real life, yes? Let's get back to humorous crazy people, shall we?

-----------------
Though my thoughts of you are antediluvian, I cannot suppress them when they jump out at me unexpectedly each time my mind wanders to the edge of the void that separates my reality from my senses. That great black depth that no bridge can remain suspended above because it gets sucked down into the abyss, nailed to the darkness by the memory of carnal hands and capricious words.

You carved the eyes from my obedience, then led it around like a kicked dog on a short chain. I think I love you a little bit for that.

Do it again.

The sun’s hot breath beats down on my neck, cooking my skin until it’s the color of your anger. My bruises were always the prettiest shade of plum and indigo, laced with traces of buttercup at the edges. You were always such a good artist and knew what color palette worked best to bring out the life in my flesh.

I close my book and look around for you, wondering why I come in search of you in rare intervals. You always pass by as though I’m any other stranger beneath the tree, your martial eyes flicking over me dismissively when you bother to turn your head. This time, I don’t mind so much. Had you deviated at all from how I anticipated you to, it might have been foredoom that the unexpected shadowed you still.

As it always has, and today is no different. Only this time I know what is to come, so the surprise is yours alone. And perhaps any passerby that is unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast. You love that shiny car of yours so damned much, I figured you could take it with you to Hell.

Over my shoulder I sling my bag, tucking the words of Poe between the folds of canvas. As I rise to my feet and kick the loose grass from my shoes, I hear the screams of the people who don’t find the fire as beautiful as I do. Regretfully, I realize marshmallows would have been real handy right about now, but I think it might be some sort of social faux pas to roast them over the burning corpse of what was once something that pretended to be a man.

I do so try to remember these little quirks of society. It’s a bother most days.

Query Mysteries... Personal or Not?

2010-03-17T21:33:00.000-05:00

So, I'm not shy and have nothing to hide. As most of you know, I'm querying and have [ungodly number redacted] rejections. I don't mind rejection these days. I had a few bad moments for a a while, but for my sanity's sake(what I had of it) I decided to expect rejection and feel overwhelming elation for a partial request, followed by doubt of its sincerity. I'm still waiting on the latter. For the most part, there's no mystery as to the intent of a rejection, but I admit, these three have me a bit confused. So, fellow rejectees (or future rejectees), what say you in regards to these enigmatic responses?

..................

Dear Christi:
Thanks for sending along the opening pages of Lesser Evils. Truth be told, though, I'm afraid these pages just didn't draw me in as much as I had hoped. I'm pressed for time these days and, what with my reservations about the project, I suspect I wouldn't be the best fit. Thanks so much for contacting me and for giving me this opportunity. It's much appreciated, and I'm sorry to be passing. I wish you the very best of luck in your search for representation.
Best,
[redacted]
This seems personal, but I can't tell. It's the 'these pages just didn't draw me in as I had hoped' line. That makes me think they WANTED to like MY story from my query, but I sucked at my opening delivery and instead of setting fire to their email (an impossible task), they just rejected it. Maybe they have a form letter then just fill in the names where needed.

Many thanks for writing. You have an interesting idea for a book, and there’s a lot to like about your approach. But in the end I’m afraid that I didn’t come away from this quite fully convinced this was something I’d be able to represent successfully. I’m sorry not to be more positive, but thanks nonetheless for giving me a chance to review it.

Best,
[redacted]
Again, it's flattering, but I'm not convinced it's a personal rejection. They might say this to everyone. Not to mention they did not address me by name.

Dear Christi,

Thank you for your email query and apologies for the delay. I appreciate the opportunity to consider LESSER EVILS for possible representation, but I’m afraid I’m not the right agent for it. I already have a few time travel novels on my plate, and you deserve an enthusiastic agent who can champion your work. Of course this is only one response, and tastes vary widely among agents. I wish you the best of luck finding the right home for your work.

Sincerely,
[Redacted]
This one was the most baffling. They already have a few time travel novels they are working on? That seems incredibly unlikely considering the supposed few clients they take on in a year. Why would you take on more than one of a genre like this at a time, much less a few? Honestly, it sort of feels like a lie. It'd really have been best to just leave that line out altogether.

Two Contests I've Learned About and Decided to Pimp

2010-03-17T16:20:00.001-05:00

There is a contest over on Chimera Critiques: www.chimeracritiques.com

Their contest website is: http://chimeracritiques.com/blog/?p=333#more-333

My browser hates me and won't let me use the link button.

The prize is a $20.00 gift certificate to a bookstore and a critique of your first chapter. To enter, they give you a starter sentence and you write a paragraph.

The site is pretty new and they'd like to get people to visit. They have forums for writers, blogs with writing tips, author interviews, book recommendations etc...

They've recently done an interview with Lisa McMann, author of WAKE, FADE, and GONE. You know, one of those published authors we envy so much. :-)

Speaking of enviable authors, meet Sean Farrell: http://www.byseanferrell.com/

The prize is a copy of First Contact by Evan Mandery.

His contest is also fun. There's a picture of him, and you describe in the comments what he is doing. This picture:

Good luck with both!

The End of the World

2010-03-13T13:48:00.000-06:00

I've had a busy couple of days and today's much the same, but I feel so neglectful of my peeps, so I'm posting 'one of my best' as proclaimed by readers at a writer's website I belong to where we post short stories for each other. I think it's just a bit silly and over-the-top, but it won an award, so maybe it's not too bad. I'm always the worst judge of my own stuff. Enjoy!

000000000000000000000000000000000

I don’t mean to come across as paranoid or anything, but I think I should definitely tell someone that the cockroaches in my upstairs neighbor’s apartment are conspiring to overthrow Wal-Mart. They’ve been pretty sneaky about it really. In fact, I’d have probably never noticed until it was too late, but the fire ants that blew my A/C unit last week told me in a fit of desperation, hoping I would bargain with them to spare their ant hill.

But I don’t negotiate. It’s the American policy towards terrorists. You might not be of the same mind that fire ants rank right up there with suicide bombers, but most of you have probably never had to deal with the little fuckers. Spend a summer in Texas, and then try to tell me that fire ants aren’t the spawn of Beelzebub. If they really put their minds to it, they could take down Wal-Mart, but evil begets evil, and they support Sam’s team.

Which is why they want me to stop the cockroaches who have seen the end of the world coming and now know an awful truth. It won’t be them at the top of the food chain, as always predicted. It’s going to be Wal-Mart employees, all of them surviving the holocaust and nuclear winter inside the thick cement walls of the job they are chained to (less than thirty-two hours a week, of course, or they’d have to be considered full-time and get healthcare benefits that would cover their lesions and irradiated flesh burns).

I told my neighbors about the cockroaches’ plan to bring the world’s largest corporation to its knees, but they just laughed at me. At first. Until they realized I wasn’t kidding. Now they don’t talk to me anymore. I swear, it’s like no one listens anymore. Not my parents, not my friends, and in the end, I might just hide in Wal-Mart with the employees when Armageddon comes. Unless they kick me out for loitering.

Sometimes I have to shake my desk just to get Darth Vader and the Joker to nod and agree with me. At least someone does, but that fucking Buddy Christ bobble head just stands there pointing at me, judging me, with that vicious smile painted across his plastic, distorted caricature. I think the spring in his neck is broken.

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

2010-03-09T19:04:00.001-06:00

So, I've honestly been sitting around the last couple of weeks being the star of my own self-pity party. Each obstacle in my life that I thought I could tackle with grace has crashed and burned in front of me. It pulled out the frayed rug from beneath me, and I've been floundering, folks.

Query interest: still a goose egg.

Malpractice suit: in limbo.

Job security: not so much.

Steady income: if every two months is considered steady.

Welcome to the Recession, I guess. I was doing pretty good until November and thought I was to be on track by last Monday, but things in my world have a way of coming to naught.

BUT NO LONGER.

To the people who said, "Start something new!"... I laughed at you. I thought it was a ridiculous notion that the story I've been laboring over for years could suddenly be swept aside by inspiration elsewhere.

Yet my Fairymuse Mother has visited me. She dropped TWO story ideas in my lap yesterday morning, quite out of the blue while I sat taking notes at work. I wasn't even THINKING about writing and then BAM. Two totally different fantasy worlds, plots, obstacles, and even tones. One is humorous and the other is tragic. One is third person and the other is... shock of shocks... first person. I normally hate first person, but I've got this voice in my head that INSISTS I tell it from his uninformed perspective.

So life is... okay, not good, but notably better. I hope to be back to my nonsourpuss self in no time.

Finding an Agent Analogies

2010-03-06T11:44:00.000-06:00

We've all heard the analogies going around about what it is like to try to find an agent:

Speed dating.
A ho looking for a pimp.
Winning the lottery.

Of those three, I just want to declare that finding an agent is NOTHING like winning a lottery. To win a lottery, you absently pull a dollar out of your pocket while picking up a candy bar and 44oz Mt Dew, then vaguely remember later to check your numbers and discover you are a millionaire. Published does NOT = rich, and there's a whole lot more work involved than spending a dollar.

I think that the most accurate analogy to finding an agent is: Fishing. Only there's a lake the size of Erie, you are in a dinghy with one pole, there's only 1000 fish in the lake, and 25,000 other fishers.

Your query is your bait. Agents even tell you PUT YOUR HOOK IN YOUR QUERY. To tempt the elusive agent fish, your bait must be better than the other hook-impaled queries out there. Don't cover your query with color. The agent fish is wise to this flashy tactic. Your bait must be tempting, yes, but also MORE tempting than fishermanBob. The agent fish gets full easily and will only eat the attached manuscripts that truly hold its interest. Sometimes it eats the query, but spits out the hook and this is discouraging. Sometimes it swallows the query, the hook, part of the manuscript, and then still gets away.

Don't get discouraged! There are other fish in the Erie, yes? And like other fish there, you do not eat the agent fish. It's more like a trophy fish. You hang it on the wall, stuffed, and tell your friends at cocktail parties about the one that almost got away.

Does anyone else have an agent search analogy to share?

Here is where I shamelessly pimp... someone else

2010-03-06T08:33:00.000-06:00

I enjoy all the blogs I read about other author's efforts for publishing, agents insights into the industry, and of course the Rejectionist for helping me feel smarter than some she sees, but my latest favorite site that always makes me smile is Lucy Woodhull. Her crazy sense of humor is right up my alley, and maybe yours, too. If you're having a down day, then I strongly suggest you go check her out. If you're feeling smart, you might also decide to follow her.

http://yousayweird.blogspot.com/

Her latest post is about the 'Writer Rules' regarding... pretty much everything. It's hilarious, and just might make you smile along as you imagine how it was as fun to write it as it is to read it.

You Are

2010-03-03T20:17:00.000-06:00

Above and below are both products of my weirdness. Enjoy! This one is called You Are.

----------------------

I hear you all the time now. You are that voice in my head. Not the good one that tells me to hold the door open for the elderly or has me tell a small child to sit down before they fall out of their mother’s grocery cart. You are the voice that tells me to do nothing so I can laugh when they fall down.

When I am alone at night and stare at the ceiling, you are the voice that tells me it isn’t safe to sleep. Not because dreams are dangerous or because there are monsters lurking in the shadows of my closet, but because you are waiting for me behind my closed eyes.

Hungry. You are a ravenous cancer that eats away at my sanity, destroying any bit of me that might have once passed for normal. Others watch me with suspicious eyes when I argue with you at the bus stop, but they don’t know… they just don’t know. You are the one they should fear, not me. I’ve caught you putting my dad’s gun in my hand, but I won’t let you win. I am stronger than you.

No one else sees it, but I know what you are.

You are the voice that tells me that the world is collapsing around me. You tell me I could light a bus filled with nuns and toddlers on fire and no one would care. You tell me it’s good kids take guns to school because it’s about time the bullies feared the geeks. You are convinced there is no such thing as a hero, only people in the wrong place at the wrong time that make stupid decisions. You say no good deed goes unpunished.

Samuel can’t walk now. You tell me he hit me first, but I don’t remember. When I looked down at my crimson soaked hands, I had thought the blood was mine. My life flashed before my eyes and I wondered if the people at the bus stop ever laugh at you when I’m not paying attention. It was a random thought, one that vanished as soon as I saw Samuel’s crumpled body at me feet. Mom says she’s afraid of me, and doesn’t believe me that you did it.

You get away with everything, and I’m sick of it.

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Please comment. I love the feedback, and I'm so glad people enjoy my weirdness.

Dear Lucky Agent Contest

2010-03-02T20:34:00.000-06:00

This is a contest over at http://www.guidetoliteraryagents.com/blog/

It is for Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Romance writers. You submit the first 150-200 words of your manuscript, and they judge you. If you write in these genres, go check them out and enter. Come on. Be brave. Get judged.

We all love a little judgement now and then, right?

I Am

2010-03-01T18:04:00.001-06:00

Above image is mine as are the words below. Sorry for the lag in posting. I had a bad weekend of Writer's Doubt and had a pity party of one on my couch, watching movies. So, without further ado, I give you I Am. Enjoy.

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I am not what lurks beneath your bed. What need have I to creep into houses and hide in the shadows unseen? I fear nothing. Not because my power is infinite or because I am the very soil in which fear’s roots flourish. I am what carried fear in my womb, where it owes its allegiance, and what it needs to survive. It could never be my master.

I am smoke. I am beauty. I am everything that terrifies you and brings you comfort. When I am near, you feel me around the edges of your soul. My cold digits slide down your spine to taunt you with my presence, and I grin to myself as you look over your shoulder in search of me. I am the dark edges you see in your reflection when you look hard enough.

I am what wakes you in the middle of the night, what you see when your eyelids first flutter open, and then I disappear again into the ether as if I never was. I am not the cat to your mouse, no. I am the bat to your moth. I do not give chase as you skitter about with wide eyes and an anxiously twitching tail. Indeed, I give you wings and let you soar as high as you can go, then swoop in for the kill, my attack brutal, swift, and inescapable.

You doubt me sometimes. Though I know it is inevitable due to the games I play with you, it does not stop me from resenting you for not understanding you belong to me.

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Shorter than some, but it was one of the first I wrote about a year ago like this, and it's my personal favorite.

Solo Pillowtalk

2010-02-26T19:13:00.000-06:00

Here's another one of my silly first person POV bizarre thoughts journal entry-type things. Enjoy, cringe, whatever your pleasure.

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The darkness thrummed softly in my ear, radiating a pressure in my sinus cavity that grew exponentially until I realized it was just the blood pounding in my brain, furiously pumped there by my heart because I let my thoughts stray to him.

Stupid thoughts. Sometimes I wish I was more like a Zen master who can control their thoughts and emotions, or simply take down the person that haunts my mind with a swift roundhouse kick to the head.

Or maybe that’s Chuck Norris. I get confused sometimes.

A horn blew in the distance, the deep cry of the freight train which tells people to get the hell out of the way because they are too big to stop for just anyone. Hancock, obviously, or Superman, but that’s about it. It’s said the sound of a train’s horn is the saddest sound in the world, but what’s sad about telling people to get out of the way?

Not to mention the train has only been in common usage since the 1800s, so what was the most mournful sound before that? I want to know who came up with the Mournful Scale, anyway. The sound of my bank’s ATM beeping at me while it displays ‘Your account is insufficient to support this transaction’ is pretty damn mournful to me.

So is the sound my phone makes when he doesn’t call.

Headlights danced across my ceiling as a car sped by, and I wondered where it was that they needed to get to in such a hurry. Maybe someone was waiting for them. Maybe they were late for work.

Maybe their crack-head ho was giving birth prematurely to a drug addicted baby in the backseat and they were trying to get to the river fast enough to dump them in it before there was blood all over the plum leather interior.

I pulled my pillow closer and buried my face in it, pretending it smelled like him. His head had never rested there, and I’ve no idea what he smells like, but I’ve got a pretty good imagination. I’ve decided that he smells like trees and the ocean and those little cinnamon bits that cover the top of a canned Pillsbury roll.

Sometimes he smells like fingernail polish remover, but that could actually be my hand beneath the pillow. I don’t think he paints his nails.

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fin

Happy Friday, y'all.

Short Post

2010-02-25T21:48:00.000-06:00

I've been at it forever, and I just finished my samarai slashing of my manuscript. It was over 150,000 words, but I tossed a subplot. That took it down to 127,306. I'm happy to report that I've slashed it another 11,624 words. It's urban fantasy so it's longer than average. But ALL the foam is gone and the only thing to go now would be entire scenes if an agent wants it smaller.

My eyes are killing me. 'Night, y'all.

We Are

2010-02-24T08:15:00.001-06:00

The above image is mine, as are the below words. This is one called We Are.

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The clock on the mantle ticks away the time, and at eleven minutes after the darkest hour of the day begins, you realize we are coming for you. It’s been a long time since last we saw your pretty face lingering around the back alley of the abandoned pool hall.

It’s not so bad. You’ll see things our way, eventually. If you know what’s good for you. Some don’t care what’s best for them, which is why we come for them in the first place. If you’re anything like them, you won’t last a baker’s dozen of hours before we break you. Do you really want to be just like everyone else? We thought you reveled in your individuality.

We are not happy with you right now. In truth, we are never happy with anyone at any time. It’s the nature of the beast. Happiness is the keyhole in which weakness slithers into the strong.

There is no key to happiness. You’ve looked, haven’t you? You wonder why there is even a hole, if there is no key to fit it.

It is there for the same reason we are. To make you question, to make you doubt, to make you wonder why the fuck you wandered down a back alley behind the abandoned pool hall in that little red dress, if not to prove you don’t care what’s good for you.

You only care about the attention.

We are watching. Does that make you happy?

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Comment, please, and let me know what you think. I respond, honest.

Bitter Hands

2010-02-23T09:05:00.000-06:00

So, here's another one. The above picture is mine, as are the following words. I call these short stories, but that's not really what they are. I was working on a project once which was a collection of ranting journals. Nothing ever came of it, so I'll just post them on my blog for a while. Here's Bitter Hands.

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I’m locking my door and shutting you out. The last thing I need is another person to spread my wounds wide and see how much I can bleed, or twist my insides until my guts squeeze my heart to burst. I won’t let you gnaw upon my suffering or allow your triangle-shaped words to strip away the soft flesh of my defenses.

Seriously, we have politicians for that.

You push me, pull me, toss my grinning nightmares onto the stage to perform for your own amusement. I’m so tired of you grabbing my sanity by the hair and driving it to the ground with your unforgiving apathy.

These bitter hands are washing themselves of you, but no soap seems to clear away the bile between my fingers. Suck it up. Move on. Split my self-righteousness in half and give it out to the poor. The world could use more complacency, and I’m sick of trying to keep a hold of my own.

Probably because I don’t deserve it, anyway.

So sit back and stretch out your wings to soak in all the heat radiating off my words. Take to the sky with my angry exhales, and tumble back to earth. You’ve dug yourself a hole to land in, and I’ll happily etch your tombstone.

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The end. Let me know what you think, please. :-)

A Torch in the Tempest

Guilty Pleasures

So, a bit of news...

The Book That Scares You

Inspiration Lightning

Write On Con

Stereotypes

100 Word Story

What Makes Us Who We Are

9 Things That Make My Life Difficult

I'm a Bit Ashamed, But Not Above Sharing

Miscommunications

What Is Your Greatest Writing Obstacle?

Four Months Isn't Too Long, Is It?

Inspiration is a Fickle Mistress

Some Random Observations

So Much Good News

Questions We Ask Ourselves

Social Media

Hermit behavior

Rolling In The Deep

Lies We Tell Ourselves

A Rainy Day in Texas

Guess Who's Not Dead

Christmas Countdown

Catching Up

NaNoWri-not so much

My 100th Blogpost

Flatlined Again

So, I'm a Goober

Immitating Others

Just My Two Cents

Now For Something Completely Different...

The Answers

Staying Positive

Mash-Up Contest

The Rejectionist's Uncontest

The Passion - a short

Time to SPEAK up

Procrastination is my BFF

Cyber Hugs All Around! (maybe the pink is effecting my brain)

Hiatus Complete!

Friday updates

Exciting News

I'm On American Idol!

I Write Like...

*AHEM* Tammy Narayan, Lynn Simpson, Nicole Ducleroir, Roland Yeomans, and Justine Dell, you there?

The Day Job

Drum Roll Please and Maybe a Bit of Saxaphone for a Jazzy Touch

It's Friday Again. Funny How That Happens Every Seven Days

Zombie Cupcakes and Awards

When Inspiration Strikes

Beauty is in the eye of the guy with the glasses or something like that...

'Tis Friday

Awards Time!

A few things...

Digging out the oldies...

Feeling Funk-tabulous

106 Followers Contest

I'm easily distracted

Blogfest... a bit late

More from The Project

Tagged, too

Last Line Blogfest

My Blogging Friends

I Live... and found a soapbox upon which to climb

Twitter

Updates

To Wait, To Ramble

Getting to Know You...

Contest and stuffs

Award and Book Club

Winter Man

Not for the Timid

Awards on Easter/Ostara and More Bad Poetry

First Page Blogfest

Tahereh's Contest

I WON A CONTEST!!!111!!!!!1!!1!!! (*feels so obnoxious and doesn't care*)

So Sayeth Moonrat

Followers Celebration

AHEM Tammy Narayan, Lynn Simpson, Nicole Ducleroir, Roland Yeomans, and Justine Dell, you there?

I WON A CONTEST!!!111!!!!!1!!1!!! (feels so obnoxious and doesn't care)